The Order: The Alduin Saga
by SheenWinning
Summary: On the start of his ultimate quest, the Dragonborn knows he must face down the return of the Dragons, but he is just a man. In the adventure, an Alliance of Heroes is rallied to help aide the Dragonborn to defeat Alduin, forming the newest Knightly Order of Tamriel. This is the first of many hardships they will endure. M for sex, language, and violence. Imperial-Nordic Dragonborn.
1. ORIGIN

A misty night had fallen in the wake of ruins; what was left of this town sector had been held together by the hearts of the weak, and those that could remain. Stones that lay as the walls of constructs were askew, and ash ridden. The fountains of visionary leisure were tainted; the shapes the water poured out of were disfigured, causing not a gentle flow but a rapid leak. The nature that decorated the town was once a peaceful image that nourished the mentality of those that bared witness; now they were burnt as though the grasp of Oblivion had caught hold and let go, and had many years to become handsome again. Once mighty and strong structures, the walls that protected the subjects residing inside had abrasions all along it where smoke had once risen in a terrifying image of the clashing of swords and shields and the roaring of fireballs jumping through the blotted sky.

A terrible plague had cursed this land not so long in the past; a terrible plague of which had left such a path of misery and destruction; a terrible plague that couldn't be resisted. A terrible plague in which its end meant no stop and its legacy continued until the souls could build back up what this city once was.

That plague was war.

A great war had happened not so long ago, and the homeland had lost. Those living under it never asked for it, and they had nothing else to look to.

But in this night, all was calm. One who had once fought could lie under the stars on the street and rest forever. A night seemed to calm, and the presence of the Daedric Princes, Nocturnal and Azura, never could be more welcoming, especially in a time where the light could show over a bitter reminder of where all lived.

Flops of bare feet sounded in the night, and a blur went past view. A woman with a hood over her head, covering her long black hair, had run by with her arms together as she held something. Her breathing was frantic, whimpers would escape her lips in desperation as her eyes were wide in panic and tears would fall out of them. Cradled in her arms was a wrap of blankets, tucked around the form of a small infant. Despite her running, the child remained asleep through the shakes. What you could see on her torso was red; blood had stained her dress to parts of her arm, it getting over the wrap of blankets that comforted the child.

The frightened woman had opened her tearful eyes and looked up to see a stone building, one that luckily held itself together. She slowed herself to a walk, spinning around as if to search her surroundings, and then she faced back to the front porch of the building and quickly made her way up the steps. She stopped; lowering herself to her knees, her hold on the baby had softened looking down at it with puffy lips and glossy eyes. The baby seemed to have sensed it and it opened its eyes, big whites with blue irises had shined at the woman and its mouth opened, giving her a small laugh as its arms flailed. The woman smiled down at it, but with a sad look about her eyes. With her thumb, she gently stroked its soft cheek, more tears coming in. She rocked it.

"I'm so sorry, my love," she said to it, unable to hold back chokes of her own crying. "May you live the rest of your life…" she sobbed, putting the baby down on the hardwood floor, the blankets providing a cushion. "Goodbye, I'll love you forever." The tears from her eyes fell onto its wrapping, as she touched the infant one last time before lifting herself up and backing away. She couldn't take her eyes off of it until she reached a certain distance from the porch and then she turned and ran off into the mist.

Now the baby was left, the blood on it, yet no harm had come to it. It struggled to reach out for something, for the comfort of the woman, but she was no longer there. It was no longer safe in her arms, and it had reached a cold outside world of nothing to cuddle under. It began to cry, echoing loud enough for those behind the double doors to hear. Suddenly, one of the doors on the porch had swung open, a lantern being lit to reveal the face of an old man, his stomach protruding belly fat, and his clothing fit for sleeping.

He squinted, looking around out at the mist and then down at where the crying was coming from. He tried to open his eyes wider, blinking and rubbing them both in a circular motion. He leaned his head in to see it flailing around and its face tightened.

"By the nine…" he whispered. "Altea!" He called, and then set down the lantern to pick up the child in his arms, noting the blood over the sheets. "What happened to you?..." In moments, another woman about his age had stepped out in her sleepwear.

"What is it, Malcon?!" She said loudly, seeming a bit annoyed. She stopped in her tracks, eyes growing wide as her ears twitched to the sound. She looked over Malcon's shoulder, taking sight of the crying baby, and she put a hand over her mouth.

"Oh my goodness…" She muttered, and then put a hand on his shoulder. "Malcon the baby has blood on him…"

"Yes, I know the baby has blood on him, Altea!" He snapped, annoyed. He put his focus back down on the baby, rocking it and trying to soothe it. "Hey, hey, shhh…" he said. "He doesn't seem to be harmed; maybe the blood is someone else's."

"Matron Altea, Patron Malcon? What's going on?" A young child in his sleepwear had said, groggily, rubbing his tired eye. With him, a stuffed bear was hanging by his loose hold and being dragged slightly. Several other children of nearly the same age had followed behind them, all of different races. Altea lowered herself to their level and directed them back.

"Go back to sleep, children, there's nothing for you to worry about," she said. The young children went back inside momentarily, and Altea looked back to Malcon. "What will we do with him?" The man had stopped and pondered for the second.

"He must've been left here for a reason…" he uttered.

"Should we turn him in to the guard?" Malcon turned to her.

"No," he replied. "He must've been left here for a reason; so we'll do our job." He then went inside past her, and she followed. "We'll have to take care of him until someone claims him for adoption. I'll notify the guards tomorrow morning of what happened; but for now, we need to get him cleaned."

Altea looked back out at the night mist, wondering who had left him there.

"Is there any indication of a name?" She asked. Malcon stopped.

"No," he answered simply.

"Then what should we call him in the meantime?" Malcon looked down at the baby, seeing that it had become calm, and it looked back up at him with its blue eyes and smiled, laughing just like before. He smiled, and took note of his features. White like skin, like an Imperial or a Nord, and black hair had seemingly grown on top of his head. Malcon came to a conclusion.

"We'll call him Arminius."


	2. Introduction

**I'm redoing my AU into this story, and I hope you enjoy. If you guys want some clarity on the characters, here is the list. **

**Arminius Constantine****  
Race: **Colovian Imperial-Nordic mix**  
Face-Model: **Clive Owen (look him up as King Arthur; you'll get a good idea of what Arminius looks like.)  
**Voice Actor: **Nolan North (regular voice)

**Hadvar  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor: **Jonas Fisch (in his Hadvar voice)

**Jenassa  
****Race: **Dunmer  
**Voice Actor: **Claudia Black

**Mjoll the Lioness  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor: **Martina Lotun (in her Nord accent)

**Erik the Slayer  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor:** Jason Marsden

**Marcurio Desideratus  
****Race: **Imperial  
**Voice Actor: **Jon Curry

**General Servius Tullius  
****Race: **Imperial  
**Voice Actor: **Michael Hogan

**Legate Rikke  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor: **Claudia Christian

**Balgruuf the Greater  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor: **Michael Gough

**Irileth  
****Race: **Dunmer  
**Voice Actor: **Lani Minella

**Hopefully now you can all get an idea of what I'm aiming for. So let's get this started; don't forget to review the story, I demand it.**

* * *

_Elder Scrolls: The Order_

_Nearly 5 months after the downfall of Ulfric Stormcloak's attempt at the throne, Skyrim still knew little peace. The dragon threat was still very much alive; but a hero lingered. _

_He was once a Legionary, but he set out on his quest to High Hrothgar to learn the way of the voice, for the Greybeards had summoned him._

* * *

_High Hrothgar_

A man had rested on his knees in the ancient stone quarters; the wind of the frosty air howling through the small cracks. His head was tilted down, hands resting on his thighs, a black beard that he let grow out now defined his face, neck length hair on his head. He was covered in brown robes, replacing the Legionary armor that he once had.

Throughout his days, he trained; meditated on the meaning of the voice, gaining enlightenment from his teachers, drank the purified water, practiced his thu'um. Other than what the Greybeards gave him, he practiced for his own good, doing drills with his sword, swinging with grace at absolutely nothing. His skills sharpened; he knew he would need it.

As he currently meditated, he thought on the words that Arngeir had told him.

_Go and retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. _

After what seemed like forever, the Greybeards were finally going to send him back down to the world to find an artifact in a place known as Ustengrav, another Nordic burial ground. He's been in one before…he knows what to expect.

* * *

The young man had on a set of fur armor, covering himself from the blast of the snowy wind. Over that was a fur coat, one that was made of wolf skin and went down his back like a cape, a hood behind his neck. He just finished saddling up his horse, adjusting the sword sheathe and climbing onto the saddle. He maintained control of the animal, turning it so he could look back at Arngeir, one of the Greybeards who stood waiting for him to be off. They made eye contact; the old man slowly nodding his head; then the young man with the black beard pulled the hood up over his head and directed his horse, trotting away down the mountain side.

* * *

Rorikstead, the old town that rested at the foot of the mountain had been left in rubble thanks to the Civil War that was waged here a year ago; the town now completely abandoned.

The forests of Falkreath, barely even touched by the war, was the young man's favorite province due to its beautiful landscape. Whiterun had its green plains, but it has been stained, especially by the Battle of Whiterun that happened in the mid of last year. Then there was Hjaalmarch; a rather bland piece of land below Skyrim's capital, defined by its swamp marshes.

In the land of Hjaalmarch was the hidden burial tomb of Ustengrav. On the way in, Arminius had faced several dangers. The Bandits that took shelter there were one, and the Necromancers that were fighting them there were another; the traps and the undead creatures known as the Draugr.

Twisting, winding, bent turns through dusty old rooms where sand and dirt would fall from the ceiling, indicating the danger of it collapsing any moment. But the young man had seen it all once before; he fought some bad things, even a Dragon once, and he was determined to see this mission through.

He had his sword sheathed, shield resting on a hilt on his back; he pulled down on a chain and at the same time like magic, the gate lifted itself open. He walked in, eyes squinted and taking a load in the sight. He was on an elevated level, a set of stairs that led down to a pathway between some ponds. The ponds licked at the air, leaving its sound of aqua and distortion. At the other side of the pathway was an altar of some kind, with a chalice like structure being elevated by sculpted hands. There's no doubt that that's where the horn would be.

He stepped down the steps, one foot at a time. Suddenly, the ground began to shake as though there was an earthquake, the young man jumped his hand to grasp the handle of his sword, From the water emerged four colossal stone structures, and as they stopped, the young man got a better look at them. They were shaped to be like…eagles or hawks…but the real question was, what point did they serve? Did they just randomly appear out of the water?

The young man thought on it for a moment, and then decided to continue his way cautiously down the steps, his hand still tightly grasping the sheathed sword. As he made his way across, he noticed on the other sides of the room were black coffins; he would be more cautious, but to what he saw, the Draugr that occupied them were already slain.

He put his attention back on the place where the horn is supposed to be; the alter being surrounded by riches and cremated ashes. Amongst that, his eyes widened; and he couldn't believe it.

It wasn't there…

Dammit…it wasn't there…

But there was something…a note. The young man instead reached for the note where the horn is supposed to be, and opened it up.

_Dragonborn_

_I need to speak to you, urgently. _

_Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn, in Riverwood. I'll meet you. _

_~A Friend_

It seems as though whoever it was went through a lot of trouble just to pass on a note. I mean, the person who did this obviously left all the Draugr and Bandits and Necromancers, and spiders behind for him to handle. Some "friend".

His mind, however, was set and curious. This person probably had the horn; and he needed that horn.

_I guess it's back to Riverwood then._

* * *

**Remember to review. **


	3. Chapter 1: Sleeping Giant Inn

The door opened, letting in the sunset light. The inside was lit up by the large mass of burning firewood in the center, and at the end of the large hall was a counter. The young bearded man stepped in; dusting off his armored shoulders and took a look around. It's been a while since he's been there; the last time was when he spent several weeks there during the war, to help try and get their defenses up against the Dragon that attacked his convoy in Helgen.

There was a woman there, he remembered her; she looked to be in her fifties, and she was the innkeeper. He approached her from behind and asked the question.

"Excuse me," he made himself known. The middle aged woman straightened her back and turned to him. "I'd like to rent the attic room." He could see her raise her eyebrow in question.

"Attic room? We don't have an attic room," she said. "But if you're still looking for rest, then you can have that room over there on the left." She pointed out the open door at the other end. The young man looked in that direction and pondered.

_So there is no attic room, huh? What kind of joke was this 'friend' playing? _

He agreed though; after days of horse riding, he was in need of a rest; he barely got any sleep now that he was back down to Nirn and traveling again; like he did in the Legion. He gave her 10 septims, no problem; all he wanted was to just lie down and sleep.

He went to his room, taking note of the surrounding. Fur bedding, drawer, end table, chair...

He stripped off his cape like bear and wolf fur, boots and steel chest plating and shoulders. He put on something more comfortable from his bag, a set of casual clothes that he would usually wear when not on duty or not traveling.

He sat himself on the wooden chair; the hard solid not very comfortable on his back but at that point it was better than not sitting down at all, and he found it relaxing regardless. He slouched, laying his head back and closing his eyes. His head tipped restlessly sideways, neck bending at the edge, he opened his eyes slightly to see a goblet on the side table.

He thought about that goblet, and what it was for. It was for drinking…drinking Ale and Mead or other good things that could quench his thirst, or quench his want for more Mead. He immediately pushed himself up and reached into his sack, pulling out a glass bottle of Nord Mead that he kept around with him.

It was like an addiction, only it wasn't; more like a hobby of his to drink alcoholic beverages, because he rarely ever lets himself get drunk. But it was the only thing he drank besides water: mead of all kinds. Honningbrew, Nord, Black-Briar…sometimes he would have fancier stuff, like what they created in his homeland, but he never cared much for it.

One of the better things that he cherished besides a drink was a drink with someone he knew. With his time in Skyrim, he hasn't made very many friends surprisingly, despite the fact that almost everyone in the Fourth Legion knew him, but he was never really close to anyone besides them praising him. He only kept a few close friends, most of them were in really high places. The commander of the Fourth Legion, Servius Tullius was one of them, they had grown a mutual respect for each other the more they fought during the war. Legate Rikke was another, despite being the one who would boss him and his Cohort around most of the time; but he respected her highly, just as she grew fond of him near the end of it all.

As he took the goblet, he poured the Nord mead in it and continued to think of the friends he has made.

There was the Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf the Greater. After his aid in defending the city from both a Dragon and the Stormcloaks, the Jarl also grew a great respect for him; and speaking of Jarls, he wonders when the next moot would come around. He knows Legate Rikke was assigned to a political position to instill new Jarls and maintain order in the restored Eastern Holds, but that would take quite a while, and when it's finished, order still needs to be maintained by the new Jarls until they could possibly continue their cooperation with the other holds.

The young man put the edge of the goblet up to his lips, letting the honey liquid seep in and down his throat. Going on about the friends…

There was Hadvar, the one he escaped with when he was overseeing an execution in Helgen when a Dragon attacked. He was wondering where that wise fool was…surely he'd be back in Riverwood now that the civil war was over. Hadvar's uncle, Alvor, the one that helped house him for the weeks that he spent in Riverwood when he was helping them out.

He gulped down a large portion of the drink, letting it warmly settle into his belly.

And then there was…mmh…Camilla Valerius, oh what a beautiful, sweet dame. After retrieving a Golden Claw of her and her brother, Lucan's, he and she had a…'thing.' Her brother didn't really know about it, and neither did the two men who were courting her at the time. From the pleasure that memory could allow him to remember, he is reminded of the time they went out into the woods next to the river; they found a cut off bark of a tree, got naked, and he bent her over the wood and…well, it's a pleasuring thought.

Unfortunately, they had to cut things between them short by the time he was recalled back into war, and he hadn't seen her since. He tried to visit her when he came back just a short while ago, but the Riverwood trader had a sign that said it was closed down in the meantime, and that they were out of the village; such a shame.

The bottom of the goblet was rested on the arm rest, the young man sliding back down to slouch, returning his head back and closing his eyes.

Another friend of his, one that he made a bond with solely through combat was one mercenary leader. She was a Dark Elf; Jenassa was her name. She was the deadliest and most accurate archer that he has ever laid eyes on, someone that he eventually got to know. He met her before the battle of Whiterun; how they made introductions and how his Cohort and her Mercenary unit cooperated in the defense of the gate. Her style of fighting fit an assassin, using her bow and arrows in creative ways and using something that is closely resembled to martial arts. She alone probably killed more enemies than his entire cohort did. He remembers seeing her get into a one on one un-interrupted duel wielding sword fight with the White Wolf.

Who was this White Wolf? She was one of the deadliest and most ruthless Stormcloak rebels from the entirety of the war, and one of their top commanders. She got the name through her snowy white hair, and the striking war paint that she had around her eyes that closely resembled a wolf, one that would bring fear into an enemy's heart. She was probably responsible for two of the three major Imperial defeats of the war, Blizzard Rest, and Valtheim.

But to see Jenassa defeat her only proves just how incredible the Dunmer woman was. He then led a beach assault with her at Cold Harbor, then took Windhelm with her; and along the way grew a battle bond.

All these thoughts brought a pleasant rush of happiness to him, and a smile formed on his near sleepy face.

Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of the door quickly opening and shutting, and his body had a spasm in surprise, nearly spilling his drink. His eyes wide, he stared at the person who came in: the middle aged Breton woman he talked to earlier about the attic room that apparently wasn't there. The first thoughts came to his mind, and he had to speak them out.

"What!?" He let out. "What's going on?" The middle aged Breton woman shushed him.

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about?" She said. The young man raised an eyebrow, like she did before. How did she know that he was the Dragonborn? Unless…unless SHE was the one who left the note. Now what about the horn? As if she read his thoughts, she pulled out an old looking curvy horn from her back side. "I think you're looking for this," she then tossed it to him. He sprang, quickly setting aside his drink and cushioning the artifact to fall into his lap.

_She…she just…threw a priceless artifact…_

He looked up at her in horror at how careless she was of the value of this thing. Does she know how fragile that thing is? He wanted to say something to her, to scold her; but now he was too confused and all he could force out were stutters.

"I know you have a lot of questions, but first, please follow me," she turned out the door almost immediately. The young man just sat there for a moment watching her go out until realizing that he needed to follow her. Quickly he tucked the horn in a safe place in his bag, and grabbed the glass bottle of mead and quickly fast walked out after her.

"Hey wait!" He called, coming up beside her, leaning to get a look at her face. "Who are you?"

"This way," she said, walking through a door. The young man had missed the door frame from walking beside her and his head ran into the wall.

"Ow!" He rested a hand on the spot he hit, rubbing it. He then adjusted his position and moved through the door. On the other side, the middle aged Breton woman stood in front of a closet and then turned to him.

"Close the door behind you," she ordered. Hesitantly, he pulled his hand off of his hand and used it to pull the door closed. He turned back to see now that she had opened the closet doors, and…was moving into it. He could see her form beginning to descend until she was out of sight. The young man quickly walked to the frame to see that behind it was a flight of stairs that led down to some kind of…secret room.

Cautiously, he walked down, and upon entering the ground level, he looked around him. There was a weapon rack, chests, potions, enchanting table, alchemy table, and in the middle was a plain wooden table with a map on it, dozens of red marks over it. This was like…a WAR room.

Nervously, he took a sip of the mead in his hand, as the middle aged Breton leaned herself against the table just over the map.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn," she said. "I hope they're right." The young man approached the table, setting down the mead.

"YOU'RE the one who took the horn?" He asked, kind of surprised.

"Surprised?" Almost as if she read his mind again. "I guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless innkeeper act."

"What's with all the cloak and dagger?" He asked.

"I can't afford to lower my guard," she replied. "I had to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap." Thalmor? What did they have to do with this? "I'm not your enemy; I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you, I just need you to hear me out." Her tone sounded very serious, almost as if she was desperate for his attention.

"Well…" He said, picking up the mead again and taking another swig. "You have my attention."

"I had to know if the rumors about you were true," she said. He had to hold back a scoff; why were they rumors? It was basically a well-known fact, especially throughout the fourth Legion and his friends. "I'm part of a group that's been looking for you…well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you anymore, I need to make sure that I can trust you."

"What makes you think that I can trust YOU?" the young man turned the question on her. "We haven't even told each other our names yet!"

"Well if you don't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place," she said; and the young man agreed, she made a good point.

"Okay…" He said, his mind coming up with more questions. "Why did you take the horn?"

"I knew the Greybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn," she said. "They're nothing, if not predictable." With the way she said it, it seemed as if she had some distaste for the Greybeards. "When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant."

"Wait," he said. "You said Thalmor twice…what do they have to do with this?" The middle aged woman lowered her head for a moment.

"We've VERY old enemies," she said. "And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the Dragons returning. But that isn't important right now; what is important is that you must be the Dragonborn."

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"We remember what most don't – that the Dragonborn is the ultimate Dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a Dragon permanently: by devouring its soul."

"Devouring its soul?" The man questioned, remembering the battle at the Watchtower. In a near whisper, he said to himself, "so THAT'S what I did…"

"You've done it haven't you? Killed a Dragon and devoured its soul." The man shrugged his shoulders.

"If you say so…"

"Well at least you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough." The young man had took another drink of his mead, and set it down, leaning over the table, his arms holding him up for support.

"So what's the part you aren't telling me?" He asked.

"The Dragons aren't just coming back," she replied. "They're coming back to LIFE. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years; they were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life, and I need you to help me stop it." The young man chuckled.

"Do you know how crazy this sounds?" He said through chuckles, even though, for some reason, he believed every word of what she was saying. She chuckled as well.

"A few years ago, I said the same thing to a colleague of mine," she said. "Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong." The young man sighed.

"So what makes you think the Dragons are coming back to life?" He was surely a man with a lot of questions.

"I KNOW they are," she replied. "I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty; and I've figured out where the next one will be; and we're going to go there, and you're going to kill that Dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know." The task and what it required…took him completely by surprise, and immediately he spoke out against it.

"Woah," he let out. "Are you saying we're going to just go and KILL a DRAGON? Just like that?" The Breton only glared at him.

"Well, YOU were able to do it before…"

"Well yeah, of course," he said. "Because at that time, I was leading seven legionaries with a joint force of eight Whiterun guards and we nearly got WIPED OUT!" She remained silent, continuing to glare at him. "Look, lady – whatever your name is – I'm flattered that you can put so much trust into my abilities as the Dragonborn, but I'm still just a man! I mean, I've had my fair share of killing and sword fights, but I'm still new to this Dragon stuff…" The middle aged woman crossed her arms.

"Then you're going to have to get used to it, especially now."

"So what?" He said. "Just the TWO of us are supposed to just waltz right in there, stab the asshole a couple of times and expect it to die?"

"Well, do you have a BETTER plan?" She questioned him, obviously annoyed. The young man went silent, pondering one of his usual thought. He grabbed the mead and took a sip of it, his thoughts beginning to clear up, and an idea came to his head, one that comes from tactful thinking.

"Actually, yes, I do," He said. The woman backed herself against the wall and leaned herself on it.

"Let's hear it then." The words immediately came through his mouth.

"If this is a dragon we're dealing with, then we need more people," he explained. "Some really good people, people I can trust…I tell you what, you tell me where that Dragon burial site is, you can do some recon, and I can bring the extra muscle; and when we're ready, we can strike; but it needs to be quick and brutal."

"And what makes you think 'extra muscle' is going to work? You've said it yourself: you led fifteen people to fight a dragon and you nearly got wiped out."

"But lady, I know these people; they can FIGHT! One of them is my best friend whom I fought with in the war, and the other is this amazing archer! Believe me, as long as they can follow our lead, and maintain the element of surprise, we may actually have a chance against this Dragon," he explained, his Legate's strategic mind being put to example.

After moments of thinking about it; the middle aged woman shrugged.

"Oh why not? I suppose we can take whatever help we can get," she said. "Like you said, I'll go ahead and do some reconnaissance; just get whoever you need, make sure they're ready, and get to Kynesgrove; and don't take too long."


	4. Chapter 2: A Gathering of Friends

The young man knocked on the door, then retracted his hands and placed them on his sides. Through his beard, he puckered his lips and whistled a tune, his eyes upon the ceiling. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a familiar blonde haired Nord with a beard similar to his and a blacksmith's apron clothed on him.

"Hello?" The man greeted, seeming a little confused at the stranger. The thing is, he wasn't a stranger.

"Alvor!" The young man lifted his hands in the air in happiness, but the blacksmith was still confused; the young man taking note of it. "Alvor, it's me!" The blacksmith squinted at him, and then his eyes widened in realization.

"Arminius?" He said, shocked; then a smile made way through his beard. "Well, what a damn surprise to see you here! You look so different, barely even recognizable." They shook hands, laughing heartily in happiness.

"It's good to see you," the Dragonborn said. Alvor stepped out of the way, raising his hand to invite him in.

"Well, come in, come in!" Alvor said. "I'll have Sigrid fix us something to eat."

"Ah, thank you," The Dragonborn said, nodding and stepping inside, taking a good look around. Not much has changed; just the same two room house with a combined bedroom and kitchen. In the corner was a staircase that led to the basement, and a head popped out of it.

"Arminius?" The head said; the Dragonborn smiling again in realization who it was. Like with Alvor, he raised his arms.

"Hadvar!" he said. The wise fool Nord came up the steps and approached him. "It's so good to see you!"

"Likewise, old friend," Hadvar said, engaging the Dragonborn in a shake, grabbing at each other's' wrists. Moments later, the woman that Alvor had married, Sigrid, came up the stairs as well, along with their daughter, Dorthe.

"Arminius!" The little girl called out in happy surprise, and ran over to him. She threw herself onto his leg and hugged it tightly.

"Woah, easy there little wolf," he patted her on the head, and she looked up at him.

"Did you see any more Dragons!? Huh?" She asked excitedly.

"Uhh…fortunately, no," he laughed. Sigrid approached them, looking discontent with Dorthe.

"Dorthe, let him have his space," like that, Dorthe let go of his leg. "It's been a while, Arminius."

"It sure has been," The Dragonborn nodded. "You know, I'd love to stay for dinner, or chat and all, but if it's okay, I would like to speak to Hadvar outside." Hadvar looked at him questioningly. Alvor and Sigrid both nodded.

When Hadvar and the Dragonborn stepped out onto the porch, the Dragonborn bent himself over the railing, using his elbows for support.

"You know, I didn't think you were one to sport a long thick beard," Hadvar said. The Dragonborn scoffed.

"I forgot to pack shaving supplies before I went to High Hrothgar," he said. "And you know…the Greybeards don't really shave; that's why they're called the Greybeards. So how is everything down here in the real world? What's happened since the war ended?" Hadvar got down on the railing with him.

"Well, some of the Legionaries were given extended leave, like you and me," he said. "Most of the others are still working off their points, acting on guard duty in the forts or the regained holds. Legate Rikke has been working hard to maintain order."

"Has she chosen any new Jarls yet?"

"Only one," Hadvar replied. "In Dawnstar, Brina Merilis, and that's because she is a retired Legionary. All the other holds are still under Militaristic occupation; Winterhold, Windhelm, and Riften, and are being governed by appointed Legatus and Martial Law."

"Is the Fifth Legion still occupying the Rift?"

"From what I know, yes," Hadvar said. "The Black-Briar family tried to negotiate with them for control, but General Scipio isn't having it; he said something about 'not trusting anyone who lived in a seceded hold.'"

"So Scipio is governing Riften?"

"At least until Rikke can instill a new Jarl," Hadvar said. "But I think that's going to be a problem with Scipio."

The Dragonborn left his bag outside; he walked over and reached in, pulling out the Mead he had from earlier. He continued to drink it, the two pausing in silence for a moment.

"So how've you been?" The Dragonborn asked. Hadvar exhaled out his nose.

"Honestly? I could be better," Hadvar replied. "I know I should be enjoying myself now; I just fought in a huge war and now I'm home, resting. But these damn Dragons have come back, and it's hard for me to rest." The Dragonborn nodded, agreeing definitely.

"Hadvar, this is a little strange to say," he said, turning to face him fully. "But I'm going to need your help." Hadvar looked at him questioningly, straightening himself out.

"My help? For what?"

"I met with someone just a little while ago," the Dragonborn began to explain. "She said she knows how we can stop the Dragons; but I need to do something crazy and kill a Dragon with her at Kynesgrove."

"And you need MY help with that?"

"Hadvar, I've seen you barrel through seven Stormcloaks once," you have some strength in you, and we could really use your help." Hadvar went silent for a moment, crossing his arms.

"I don't know, Arminius…"

"It's not going to just be us, Hadvar," The Dragonborn said. "You do remember Jenassa, right?" Hadvar raised his head.

"You mean the Dark Elf mercenary that we held the gate with? Is she coming along as well?"

"Well we'll find out when we go to Whiterun," The Dragonborn said. Hadvar went silent again, looking at the door to his house.

"I still don't know…" Hadvar said. "What about my uncle, aunt, and cousin? What if I die and I won't come back to them…"

"Hadvar," The Dragonborn interrupted, laying a hand on his shoulder. "If I didn't trust in your abilities to keep yourself alive, then I wouldn't've come to you for help." Hadvar stopped and stared at the ground, then looked back up to him.

"You really think this will work?" The Dragonborn half smiled.

"I'm sure it will work better than the original plan, heh," he said. Hadvar nodded.

"Well…okay Arminius," he said. "I'm with you."

* * *

A travel to Whiterun starting from Riverwood in the morning on foot would last to sundown, and that's exactly what they did. They entered through the gates, their packs on them and them looking for a specific place. There it was, the Drunken Huntsman, standing upon a flight of stairs. Hadvar and the Dragonborn both looked at each other and nodded, beginning to make their way up the stairs. Upon entering, they could see a crowd of old grizzly looking men; most definitely all hunters. They were gathered around two specific people, one of them being a hunched old Nord, and the other was the familiar Dark Elf.

She had her arms crossed, her eyes glaring at the tough old man as he shouted at her.

"You damn elves give Skyrim nothing but trouble!" The old man said, clearly trying to be rude; but Jenassa was standing her ground. Hadvar and the Dragonborn stood on their toes to look over the crowd of people pestering the two.

"You know, I thought there wouldn't be very much of this now that we've won the war," Hadvar said. "Guess I was wrong."

"If the war was still going on, oh boy the things I would have done to ya…" the mean old man said. Jenassa opened her arms.

"Why hold back?" she stated. "I'm standing right here."

"Why you little…" he stomped at her, beginning to bring his fist back to throw a punch. A sly smile creeped on Jenassa's face as the fist flew forward. With cold calculation, she dodged and quickly countered him, bringing a swift kick to his face. Another move of hers and he was sent flipping forward onto his back. Another swift move of her foot, she stomped down on his leg, breaking it at the joint. He screamed out in pain, holding at his leg and rocking around on the floor.

"OOHHHH!" Everybody around them went, jumping around and mocking him like monkeys. Jenassa quickly retreated back to the corner spot where she usually presides and kicked her feet up onto the table, taking a mug full of ale into her hand and drinking it.

"Good to see those two hundred years on your life hasn't changed," The Dragonborn called to her above the shouting, approaching her table. "And to see that you're still as ruthless as ever." He laughed. Jenassa put the Ale down from her lips and a smile crept up on her face.

"Arminius…" she said. "You look different…must've been sometime." Hadvar came up beside the Dragonborn. "And Hadvar, you still look the same, just different armor." They both laughed.

"He forgot to shave this morning," Hadvar joked. It made Jenassa exhale out her nose and look at them before motioning to the two empty chairs.

"Come," she said. "Sit and have a drink with me; I know you like to have a drink." Hadvar and the Dragonborn sat down at the table, making themselves comfortable, and at the same time, the music from the Bard band began playing again. "I need two mugs of Mead on the double!" She called out.

"Ahh you know me so well," the Dragonborn said, obviously pleased about the free mead he was about to get. "So how've you been?"

"Well," Jenassa said, taking more sips of her ale. "After the war ended, my unit got its pay and was disbanded, and here I am working alone."

"So humiliating racist drunks in taverns is your idea of work?" Hadvar asked, just as a waitress came around a slid two mugs of mead to them, the Dragonborn wasting no time gulping it down.

"Well my idea of work is punishing those who deserve it," She looked over at the man who was still rolling on the ground crying, being laughed at by the other hunters. "And if you hadn't seen enough, he deserved it."

"Harsh," Hadvar said.

"And what about you, Arminius?" Jenassa asked. "Surely after five months on one of the highest mountain tops in Tamriel, coming back down means something important, especially when you come to me about it." The Dragonborn finished his mead and wiped his hairy lips.

"Hadvar, can you please explain to Jenassa here what we have planned?" He patted Hadvar on the shoulder and burped. Hadvar sighed.

"Well, we're going after a Dragon in Kynesgrove…"

"Hmm…" Jenassa said, holding the mug up to her lips. "The two of you going after a Dragon in Kynesgrove? I must say it's a very noble undertaking."

"And we need your help," The Dragonborn said.

"Ah, I sensed that one coming," Jenassa said, getting her feet down off of the table. "I remembered, just after the battle of Windhelm, that I told you to come to me anytime you need help in your quest of the Dragonborn."

"Wait…so, you," the Dragonborn let out, trying to think of words to say. "You actually want to help us?"

"Well of course," Jenassa said. "We can trust each other, can't we?"

"So just like that? No objections? You'll just help us?"

"No objections," The Dragonborn raised his arms.

"Oh great!" He said, gladly.

"Well that was easier than I expected," Hadvar said.

"Anything to get me away from this place, especially when it's with you," Jenassa said. The Dragonborn refilled his mug with mead and held it high in front of him. Jenassa and Hadvar did the same, and all raised their mugs for a toast.

"I think this is the start to a beautiful friendship..." he said. "Now, how bout it? Let's go fight a dragon." They clanked their mugs together and drank.


	5. Chapter 3: Sahloknir

**Okay guys, this chapter has over 5,000 words, the longest chapter I have done. So this shit better get reviews for the long ass time I took to make this. The reviews I got so far are very positive, and I hope I can keep that up. **

**So please read and review. **

* * *

The Emperor, white beard growing on his face, and a bald head, had retired to his quarters for the night. With the Penitus Oculatus guards on watch by either side of his door, he had no worry. He sighed, stretching his old weakly arms and walking towards his King sized bed. He looked down, moving himself to rest upon the edge, until a deep accented voice spoke out behind him.

"My Emperor," Titus would've been startled, but as soon as he heard the voice, he knew who it was and what he was there for. As soon as he turned, a figure in formal attire approached from the shadows. He had short black hair, stubble over his chin, and an eye patch over his left eye. Titus' expression grew grim at the sight of him.

"Scipio…" He muttered. "It's been a while."

"Indeed it has," Scipio replied, pulling up a glass of ale to his lips. He swallowed down. "I hope you don't mind," he said, motioning to his glass. The old Emperor shook his head. Scipio smirked and continued with his drink.

"It seems your strategy to defeat the rebels has worked," Titus said, sitting down at his bed like he was planning to, only he was stiff in Scipio's presence. Scipio set his glass on a side table and laced his fingers behind his back.

"Tullius would never do it," he said. "He should learn that all good things go to those who don't hold back." Scipio had a smooth stride in Titus' direction. "And now, thanks to my expertise, The Empire has a better chance of survival with all Imperial provinces back under our control"

"Though it was reckless…I'm not sure the High Queen would've much appreciated it," Titus said. Scipio scoffed.

"There is nothing to worry about, for Elisif is no High Queen," Scipio said. "Even if she was, her loyalty to her dead husband would drive her to any lengths to see vengeance done. She could be as ruthless as she is fair." Titus sat silently, thinking that Scipio would continue speaking but he just kept looking back at him.

"Well, we had a deal," the Emperor said. "You take care of the threat and I give you something in return. Now what is it? Gold? Women? Political position?" Scipio had his back turned to him, as he shook his head and laughed.

"Oh, my Emperor, nothing so predictable," he said. Titus raised an eyebrow.

"Then what is it that you ask of me?" Scipio turned around, his facial expression stone cold. He leaned in to the Emperor, hands still behind his back as he uttered one sentence.

"Your complete and unquestionable cooperation…"

* * *

A roar thundered across the sky, a giant winged beast was soaring in circles over a wooded hilltop of the snowy system. At the foot of the hill was the village of Kynesgrove, and its occupants were running frantic in fear for their lives. The Dragonborn, Jenassa, and Hadvar, upon hearing the frenzy, rushed on their mounts to the site. They all pulled their whinnying horses to a halt in front of a middle aged woman with her hands thrown up and her face expressing desperation.

"No!" She cried, "Save yourselves, a dragon is attacking!" The Dragonborn's horse stirred, shaking it's head and clanking its hooves till its rider was facing the woman sideways, the Imperial-Nordic man trying to keep it under control.

"Where is it now?" He demanded, and as if on cue, another dragon's roar rang out. The three looked up to where it came from, which was up the dirt path heavily shaded by the dense tree lines on each side. The beginning of the path had evidence of its further levels, and how it would turn constantly till the top.

"At the top of the hill," she pointed a bony finger up towards the sky, near the top of the hill, and then turned back to them. "Are you…here to help?"

"Yes," he answered, and then motioned in a direction away from the village. "Now get yourselves to safety!" With that the woman ran off, and the three dismounted their horses, running through the frenzy, bumping shoulders with people as they navigated their way through. They began to make their way up the shaded dirt path leading to the top of the hill. With boots stomping through the snow and dirt, the Dragonborn halted fast, lifting his hand up to his side in a balled fist, signaling the other two beside him to halt as well. They found themselves nearing the end of the path, a visibly open area with frenzying snow and dust from the flapping of lizard wings. On the left, the Dragonborn made out a boulder, one that was big enough for the three to hide behind; coincidentally, already there was the woman he convened with the other day in the secret room of the tavern. She was clad in a light combat armor, brown colored and strapped, possibly leather, and drawn out in her hand she carried a strange longsword with a thin blade shaped as an obtuse curve. He remembered seeing a blade like that before, he couldn't quite remember what it was called, but he knew it hailed from the land of Akavir.

Immediately, he motioned his arm forward toward the boulder like the legate that he was before, taking command of a cohort. He sprinted, the other two following and when he approached, he dropped himself against the rock, his body thudding and his sword clanking; the other two did the same. Seemingly, their sudden approach had startled the blonde Breton, and she turned, pointing her sword to them. When she noticed it was just him, she sighed and her shoulders loosened. She tilted her head to see the two allies he brought along with him.

"Is this all you brought?" She asked in a loud whisper.

"Uhh…yes," the Dragonborn replied.

"Well it's all or nothing now." They all waited and watched, peaking their heads above the boulder as they saw the large winged lizard beast of ancient times stop overhead a clearing, a structure in the middle of the field. It was like a mound, stone shaped like stairs encircled it. "That's the dragon tomb," the blonde Breton pointed out, "let's wait and see what happens."

The Dragon seemed to have stared down at the mound with its reptilian golden eyes, and then it began to speak in a deep husk, echoing throughout the woods as it flapped its wings in place.

"Sahloknir…" it said, to the Dragonborn, it sounded like a name it was uttering, as if it was calling out to it. It continued on, speaking in words that the four mortals couldn't understand, but the Dragonborn recognized what it was speaking.

"Dragon tongue…" he whispered. They each looked at him. "My Thu'um power is spoken in it."

"Do you know what its saying?" Jenassa asked, but the Dragonborn shook his head. Suddenly, a thunder strike exploded from the sky as the Dragon's voice became gruffer like it was reaching the climax of a supernatural ritual. The ground began to shake like a nirnquake.

"This is worse than I thought…" the blond Breton muttered. The dirt and nirn that was mended to the ground inside the radius of the mound had been severed, the particles flying in all directions in the air, and a set of bony skeleton wings had stretched from it like the risen dead. The wings had claws on the very end of them, and they latched onto the stone, pulling itself out and roaring into the sky as if it awakened from a long slumber. It's skeleton was being covered up by a fiery bright energy as it stepped further out from the mound, restoring it to its full terrifying form.

Its skin was as thick as armor, twisting features of razor like bones protruding out of it like a set of sharp teeth to gums. It was much like the one that awoke it, only it was colored a dirty grey, giving off the reflection to appear whiter, than the black dragon that reflected the clouded light to seem silverish. Each of its steps in the ground produced a large thud, leaving behind a print to catch the snow. It snaked its head upward, its white god eyes absent of pupils, looked toward the floating black dragon.

"Alduin, thuri!" It spoke in an equally deep and menacing voice that echoed as well, but varied enough to be unique to it only. "Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?" The Dragonborn patted the two girls on his sides and they all went back down with him, facing a certain point on the ground. While on their knees, he pulled out a hunting knife from a holster at the back of his waist. He began carving shapes into the wet soil.

"Okay," he breathed. He pointed to the large triangle in the middle of his image. "Here's the dragon…" then he shifted to four circles on the side, "here's us." He began to carve a line starting from their position on each side. "We can use the tree line to our advantage, moving through cover as we get on either sides of it. If we can strike from multiple blind points, then that thing should go down quicker than I hope." They then heard one of the dragon's give a deep laugh.

"You do not even know our tongue, do you?" The Dragonborn's eyes widened in realization of who it was speaking to. He and the other three stood, shooting their gazes up at the black dragon that looked down upon them with its red and golden eyes. "Such arrogance; to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah." It then looked to the other Dragon perched on the ground, its name presumably Sahloknir, and spoke to it in their language.

The Dragonborn had a terrible feeling about what was going to happen next, and as soon as the black dragon in the sky flapped its wings and soared off, he could hear the sound of something like an inhale. He knew that sound, when he last fought a dragon, back at the watchtower. He heard it numerous times when it burnt out his fellow soldiers. He could only do one thing.

"GET DOWN!" Immediately, in the knick of time, they all dropped and hugged themselves up against the rock as the sizzling and trickling of flames sounded, and the heat of sparks projected itself over the top and sides of the boulder. The dragon had shouted its word of power, creating a flamethrower from its open snout, pinning the four behind the boulder as the heat of the flames barely brushed past them, until its shout ran out for the moment and the heat died down to just what was scorched around them.

Now was their chance to pull off the Dragonborn's strategy.

"Execute, execute!" Jenassa and Hadvar sprang to the left, temporarily exposing themselves. The Dark Elf covered her and the Nord by quickly drawing an arrow from her quiver and expertly getting it off in a speedy fashion. The shot bulleted and stub the dragon near its eye, and it roared. This allowed a small frame of time for the Dragonborn and the other woman to spring out in the other direction.

If it could work, he would allow Jenassa to shoot at the thing all day till it dies. However, an arrow digging into the skin of a dragon would be nothing more than a scratch to it. It would lack the proper force to penetrate the skin through all of its layers and hit a vital organ, which is what they needed to accomplish. He thought of the plan quickly as he ran; a dragon's bones are much more sturdy than a mortals, and they are nearly impossible to even just fracture. If someone was to take a stab at the skull area, the blade would only slide in part way before the tip would be halted at the surface of the skull, essentially doing no damage. He knew that from observation from his last encounter; some of his fellow soldiers had tried to do that, and they faced little success. He knew of several soft spots that could be struck: the bottom of its neck, the throat area. It had very little bone structure, leaving an open place to stab all the way through; he knew that from experience. The eye sockets, the task force could surely benefit from blinding it. Its wings can be stabbed, since it's mostly skin, but one would have to put an inhuman amount of force into it if they were to try and slice open a larger wound. Powerful stabbing motions are the only way to make efficient use of inflicting damage, and sadly its barely enough.

The Dragonborn and the other woman ducked behind an arch of dirt in the ground, a fallen tree branch providing more over top cover. The Dragonborn quickly peered out, seeing another arrow stike the dragon, and it continued to roar as it turned frantically in the direction it came from. The Dragonborn couldn't make out his two friends, and he had hoped they found cover in time for the dragon to shout more fire from its mouth.

He beat himself up in realization of something, and he muttered to himself, "Probably should've brought a pilum or two…"

"What was that?" the woman said to him. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Nothing, now keep moving and try to get around it," he then pushed her lightly, making her jump into a sprint, moving further until she was out of sight of him. He looked back up over his cover and noticed that the dragon was faced completely away from him, its tail sticking out towards him, like it was beckoning him to come and stab it.

Now was his chance. He pulled his sword out, the blade shinging as it swiped across the edges of the sheath. It was a simple, military issue, Imperial short sword from his time in the war. It was near laughable, but it was better than his bare hands; the thought of killing a dragon with your bare hands is impossible, but it's more glory to the slayer if accomplished.

He inhaled nervously, laying his head back and pointing his face upwards towards the sky. In his head, he prayed to the Divines for a quick second, something that he rarely does. He then turned and brought himself to his feet, undoing the knot that held together his wolf cape around his shoulders. The skin slipped off into the dirt, and he charged forward, flipping his sword so he held it with the blade downward like a dagger, and he lifted it above his head, venting his energy through a yell, helping him focus his attack. The tail was spiky like, seeming less like a lizard creature and more like a Daedra; it appeared like a suit of armor itself. But with his might, he struck his sword down through its skin, penetrating all the way through and between a gap of tail bones.

It went in so deep to his exaggerated might that it became stuck in place, not budging despite his attempts to pull it out. The dragon roared once again in pain, arching its head up. The Dragonborn, grip still on the handle, was pulled forcefully, and then thrown with a rough hit to his chest, making him let go of the sword completely. The dragon's tail's might had sent him back a distance, he yelling as he flew. His back hit the ground, and he rolled uncontrollably across the dirt until he stopped on his chest. He slowly pushed himself up, coughing as he got to his knees.

"Shit…" he coughed more, and then looked around for the shield that he lost in the process. He found it lying face first to the ground just a few feet away from him. The Dragon had lifted off and began circling the battlefield, eyeing the Dragonborn especially, just as he picked back up his shield. He must've been an easy target now that he was out in the open with no weapon.

"Arminius!" He heard the accented voice of the Dark Elf call out in the distance. He turned and noticed a sword had been tossed into the air at him. He raised his free hand, palm open, and caught the sword by its handle. He pulled it back down to himself, flipping it around in his hand like the swordsman he is, getting a good feel of the new weapon he was given. It was an iron short sword, short just like his Imperial steel one, one of Jenassa's spares. It must've been his bad stroke of luck to lose a bad sword for this situation to gain an even worse one.

"I see that mortals have become arrogant!" The dragon called down to them.

"Arminius, watch out!" Jenassa called to him, as the dragon touched down directly in front of him, sending the ground shaking and him off balance. Once he regained his center, the Dragonborn immediately recognized the imminent danger in front of him, for him to be shouted to a crisp. It was a threat that a small shield like his wouldn't be able to block.

But he had his gods given power, granted to him at birth and discovered fairly recently. It ran through his non-human blood, the power wielded by the Dovah; the Thu'um. The legend of the Tongues tell the tale of the brave Nordic heroes who faced impossible odds during the Draugr wWar of the first era. They ascended to greatnes when they used the power of the Dovah's shouts against them. The Dragonborn knew it was the only way.

He took a hard step, planting his feet to the ground and stiffening his form. His muscles tense, he breathed in through his noise, his chest rising.

"Fus…" was a word that escaped with his breath, his tone seeming to rise up like a fire, and with a lastly exaggerated follow up word "ROH!" Like the power of Dovah, out of his mouth thundered a transparent blue aura of force, spreading as it sped forward. Everything in its path was kicked up and pushed back and so did the dragon, Sahloknir, whose head was knocked down to the unrelenting force. As soon as it tried to lift its head back up, the Dragonborn charged forward and plundered the iron short sword into its eye hole, blood of black squirting and oozing down its cheek. It roared, again arching its head up off the ground. This time however, the Dragonborn held on, being lifted off with its head, a firm grip on his sword and one of the scales on its head. He held on, viciously twisting his sword to mangle its eye organ ever so further, mushing it into a meat pile of blood and gush.

To his aid charged Hadvar from the other side, shield and sword raised as he as well struck his sword into the dragon, this time striking the soft spot of its neck with his Nord strength. The blonde Breton flung and jammed her long blade into the other side of the dragon's neck. With the length of the blade, it's no doubt she would've done the most damage.

They each held on to it, stabbing profusely, creating multiple breaches in its skin. The dragon now roared even louder, shaking its head side to side, trying to force away the three attackers. It chomped its snout desperately at them, shouting out fire but to no avail. It eventually flapped its wings and lifted itself off the ground, finally making them fall. It flew around in a circle, eyeing them in fury with the one eye it had left.

They all readied themselves as it began to swoop down at them. It opened its mouth, and the Dragonborn's eyes widened.

"DISPERSE!" He said, jumping to one side frantically. As a great ball of fire had just released itself, a single arrow had speeded straight into its mouth, and the fire that was supposed to have been released instead exploded inside its mouth, releasing only a smaller ball to hit and burn the center where the three were before they evaded. It made a sort of choking sound as it gulped down its own fire and it glided towards the ground on a collision course. Once again, they each evaded the incoming dragon, and it touched down violently, its scaly skin dragging along the ground, leaving a large trail of shaken dirt.

The Dragonborn looked up at it, lifting himself up slowly, sword drawn. He then turned back to see the one who was already on her feet, the one who took the shot. With the bow in her hand, Jenassa held a stern look, keeping her eye on the dragon. In that situation, an arrow made of steel and wood would've normally disintegrated in a dragon's flame, but it took a very well timed shot to actually make it in, one that only she could do.

They all approached the downed dragon with caution, noticing its body still rising in inhales and exhales, but it seemed like it was asphyxiating. They could hear it in its breath as well. The face area, especially coming out of its mouth, was steaming from the botched fire shout that the arrow caused. The four got on either side of it, getting in close and looking at its features more closely. The Dragonborn knelt down near its face, it being arched to the one side where he stabbed out its eye.

"Alduin…zu'u lost funt…" As if it felt its presence, the dragon opened its one good eye, staring straight into the Dragonborn's two blue ones. "Dovahkiin…" it muttered painfully. "Hi aal lost viik zey…"

"Who are you?" The Dragonborn demanded. "Why is your kind returning?"

"Hi nis helt mii fah lingrah…"

"What are you planning?"

"Alduin fen jakah ok nuft…" The Dragonborn stopped his questions and only looked down at it, standing back up to his feet. "Nii los dez do pah joor…" the blonde Breton came up beside the Dragonborn.

"Lets finish it off and get this over with," she said as she was about to lift her long bladed sword, the dragon spoke one more sentence.

"A war is coming, Dovahkiin…" it said. "Dark days are ahead…" And with that, it dropped its head to the ground, shitting its eye for good. Now it was dead, but what worried him was what it told them of the future.

Suddenly its skin began to glow of sparks, a sizzling sound coming from it. More and more of its scales were engulfed by the bright light.

"Stand back," the Dragonborn said. With that, the three stood back and they watched as a windy gust had fallen over them and the light energy jumped off in a path towards the Dragonborn's body, the energy disappearing into him as he stood stiff. Once the supernatural event was over, the dragon had turned back into a skeleton, jaw hung completely open. There was no more threat in the area; Kynesgrove was saved, for now.

The Dragonborn sighed, dropping the sword to the ground and running a gauntlet through his neck length black hair.

"I'll be damned," the blonde Breton said. "You really are Dragonborn."

"Did you really have any doubt?" he replied, sitting himself down on the ground and wiping the ash off of his face, in where he noticed that part of his beard was lightly burnt and disintegrated. "At least I have a reason to shave now."

"I've never seen anything like it," Hadvar said, shocked. "Did you just…devour its soul?"

"I guess I did," the Dragonborn replied.

"That was incredible," Jenassa said, kneeling down next to him. He chuckled lightly.

"That wouldn't've happened if you hadn't made that shot," he said. "Let's not have another close call like that again." For a moment, they remained silent, until the Dragonborn stood up and faced the woman who brought him to this place. "I believe you owe me some answers."

"Right," she said. "You deserve that enough." She pointed to the other two. "You two, there's no backing out, you're part of this now." Hadvar and Jenassa approached to either side of Arminius, looking to the woman.

"Wasn't planning on it," Hadvar said, crossing his arms. The Dragonborn began to ask away.

"First of all, who are you?"

"My name is Delphine, I am a Blade, part of a knightly order that has been searching for people like you for centuries."

"A Blade?" The Dragonborn said, "Where have I heard of them before."

"They came from Akavir, and served as the Emperor's bodyguard," Jenassa answered. "That was until the White-Gold concordat disbanded them."

"Replacing them with the Penitus Oculatus," Hadvar added. Delphine nodded her head.

"You two seem to know your history," she said. "I'm also one of the last of the Blades. If the Thalmor were to find me, then all of our elite techniques and Akaviri influence will fade into the dust forever, including the ancient meaning of the existence of the blades."

"And what is that purpose?"

"A very long time ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn, who was to be the greatest dragonslayer of them all."

"That must be why they became the Emperor's bodyguard," Hadvar said. "The Cyrodiil and Septim dynasties were both Dragonborn."

"But my father said the last Septim died two hundred years ago," the Dragonborn said. "If you were only disbanded in the White-Gold concordat, what were you doing guarding the Mede Dynasty?"

"We continued to serve the Empire for it was still a shadow of the Septim legacy," Delphine said. "And through that time we have been searching for a purpose, and the next Dragonborn. Now here you are, and we just killed a dragon that returned from the dead; our purpose is clear again…we need to stop them."

"Since you're obviously the expert here," he said. "What do you know about the dragons returning?"

"Not a damn thing," she replied. "I was just as surprised to see that big black dragon back there." The big black dragon…now that the Dragonborn was remembering its face, it was all too familiar.

"Wait a minute…" he whispered, and then turned to Hadvar. "Hadvar, did that black dragon seem familiar to you?"

"I'm not sure, Arminius," he replied. "What are you saying?"

"I think that was the same dragon that attacked us in Helgen."

"Was it?" Hadvar said, "But why did it?"

"Maybe it knew you were Dragonborn," Jenassa said.

"Dammit," Delphine interrupted abruptly. "We're blundering around in the dark here while that thing is out there flying about! We need to find out who is behind it all."

"Who is, or what is," the Dragonborn added. "Right, what happens next?"

"Everything relies on you now, the continuity of the Blades, the continuity of life as we know it," she said. "In order to find strength within yourself to fight a dragon on your own, you must know the art of the Dragon slayers from Akavir."

"You mean…you want me to become a Blade?"

"Precisely," Delphine nodded. "I'm the last one on Tamriel to hold the elite combat style of the Akaviri; what if I was to die tomorrow? The centuries of culture and style will be wiped away completely, unless this knowledge is passed on to others."

"What about us?" Hadvar said, mentioning him and Jenassa.

"You two will be part of this crusade, no doubt about that," Delphine replied. "But to be taught the ways of the Akaviri Blades is something I believe should be passed on to the Dragonborn first."

"Delphine, I'm honored that you're burdening me with the survival of the Blades and their ways, as though being burdened with the protection of Tamriel wasn't enough, but…" he scoffed. "I already know swordsmanship."

"You know how to simply stab and slice from Legion soldier training," Delphine said flatly. "Legionaries were not dragonslayers. The Blades have a unique style of fighting that hails from Akavir and takes several years of training and meditation to master, and we were dragonslayers once."

"Fair enough," the Dragonborn said, lifting his arms. "But how do we know we'll even have the time to train for years with these dragons about?"

"You can learn them fast," Delphine stepped closer to him. "You're intelligent, Arminius; back there, after only one battle, you were able to devise a plan to take this thing down with just the four of us, and it worked. Based on what I've heard about you, you seem to be very good with the blade in general, I'm sure learning to wield a Katana properly would be nothing more than an old experience to you."

"Alright," he said. "I'm convinced, when will I start my training?"

"Not quite yet," she said. "It seems we have some unfinished business to do. How about you go and get that horn back to the Greybeards while I head back to Riverwood to come up with our next move?"

"Sounds like a plan," he replied. Delphine held out her arm to him and they engaged in a shake.

"I'll see you there, be safe, and may Talos guide you," she said. The Dragonborn nodded, but his heart had heated up and its beat paced faster. Talos? He's heard of that name before. Hadvar said it to him once back in the war; it was apparently the heretical Ninth Divine.

In the war that he fought in, a huge factor of the Stormcloaks involved the concept of religious freedom to worship Talos, one that was banned by the Empire forcefully at the end of the Great War. Despite the Legion fighting to conserve the established order, ironically enough, a lot of Legion troops, especially in the fourth legion, had a strong belief in Talos, probably because half the soldiers in that legion were Nordic. They just rather had a strong sense of loyalty to the Empire, in which surprisingly they didn't abandon.

But Delphine wasn't a Nord, she was a Breton. Was it because she was a Blade? This question of religious preference would stick with the Dragonborn as he begins to question what he believes, since he never cared much for the Divines to begin with.


	6. Chapter 4: The Resurrection of Nahkriin

The Dragonborn saw his reflection in the water as he bent his knees, bringing himself closer to his image. After a couple days of travelling, the three found themselves somewhere in the Rift, the land warmer than Kynesgrove of Eastmarch, but it still had the cool breeze to it to afford a comfortable wear. One wear of warmth that the Dragonborn had was his special wolf cloak, or more like a short cape. It would tie at the very middle of his chest, and drape over his shoulders, and run down his back in a triangular shape, the very tip ending at the mid of his spine. It was something he gained over his time in Riverwood during the war, when he dishonorably took time off from the Legion to help Hadvar's town and Whiterun to prepare for a possible dragon attack; he figured that if the rest of his Legion thought he was dead, then it's best he takes advantage of that and do other things before emerging as one of the survivors of the Helgen dragon attack.

Beyond his self-burdened duties of protecting his friend's town, the Dragonborn, though he was still just Arminius at the time, ran errands for the small population of the town. In weeks, he had made friends with the Valerius siblings, and even helped get them back their golden claw from Bleak Falls Barrow, the burial dungeon that resided on the mountain across the river, overlooking the town from several miles away. It was probably the first time he has made a trek alone, well of course Camilla Valerius accompanied him part way there, even a bit further beyond the bridge that ran across the river, even though her brother, Lucan, forbid it.

She was rebellious in a way, though, like a Stormcloak, only she was an Imperial. When he walked in on the two having an argument, she was insisting that she goes up to the top and takes back the Golden Claw herself. He chuckled, looking at her, imagining her traveling up a mountain and fighting anything in that cold, donning only her dress and armed with her iron dagger. When he started on the path, Camilla was very persistent to accompany him on the way there, but he refused and said that she should listen to her brother and stay until he returns. With hesitance, and more arguments, she eventually agreed.

Along the way, he encountered bandits, in which he violently fought through without mercy, something that was quite unlike him. His out of character violence and hatred for brigands goes far beyond simple mistrust; it was a special experience that made him think of these things, but to bandits only. When he lived in war-torn Cyrodiil, he would often travel with his father, transporting his farm's produce to sell to the needy public in a nearby settlement. One day when he was fifteen they came across a broken young woman, naked and holding herself in fetal position. She had tears in her wide eyes, fear and terror glinting in them. It was then she explained that a group of Bandits attacked her family while they were migrating, decapitated her husband, hung her two children, and gang-raped her till she could barely feel herself anymore.

The story alone nearly brought the young Arminius to tears, but it wasn't until they had come across the site of the disturbing carnage in which he lost his emotions, anger and rage taking over his mind. His adoptive father, a Great War veteran, who had raised him to fight and remain hardened, had lost control of himself as well. He swore to the woman that he would find the ones who did it and strike the rage of oblivion down on them. Soon enough, he and his father did; it was the first time that Arminius has killed someone, before his training in the Legion. They said it feels horrible to kill someone at first, like stealing from a market, and that it gets easier; but slicing through the throat of the bandit that lay beneath him, defeated, he felt nothing.

It was an experience he hoped he never would have to live through again, of course, up until his journey to Bleak Falls Barrow.

He fought through many different enemies, even a giant spider in which he barely slew, and made his way to the end. He found the claw, and a mysterious wall containing words in a language he knew nothing of at the end of it. Strange enough, a light aura had jumped from a formed letter on the wall and seared into his mind. He was frightened at first, for he had absolutely no idea what had happened.

Eventually, though, he left the dungeon successful, golden claw in pouch and everything. He returned the claw to Lucan and Camilla and they were more than grateful for his generosity. Lucan, in return, allowed him almost three fourths off everything in the store; Camilla, however, acted much more friendly to him. For the next couple of weeks, he and Camilla would often sit and chat at the Tavern in the town; as time goes by, they became less formal, acting more friendly, and then reaching the level of flirtatious.

One day she approached with the short cape made of wolf hide in her hands and handed it to him. She said that she made it herself, and that she thinks it would look good on him. He tried it on over his steel imperial armor, and of course he liked it and decided to wear it all the time as it held the feeling of warmth and soft fur wrapping around his shoulders. He thanked her and smiled.

She immediately turned flirtatious, and told him that what would look better on him would be nothing. He smiled, seductively at her, thinking through his mind that he wasn't surprised of her attraction to him. He may have been officially recognized as an Imperial, but his half Nordic genes gave him a very chiseled and tall stature; not to mention his face displayed the handsomeness of a god, as he jokingly liked to think and as agreed with by Camilla; she specifically noted his shapely facial features, heavy stubble, and groomed black hair.

After that, he picked her up bridal style and carried her out into the woods. He set her down on a sawed off tree bark, allowing her to take in the sight of him as he stripped down naked for her, just like she wanted. He then untied her dress strings and allowed her dress to slip off. They then had their way with each other, panting and moaning between sweet kisses of cheeks and lips and the suckling of necks and breasts.

He brought his hunting knife up to his wet face, and scraped at the misshaped beard around his lips. Each pocket of hair cut would easily drop into the water, until his face would become clear. With finishing touches, the Dragonborn put back the hunting knife into the sheath on his belt and faced over the water, running his hand along his now smooth skin. He looks almost like he used to, except he has longer hair now. He'll probably look better once his facial hair starts to grow back in again.

He returned to the temporary camp he, Hadvar and Jenassa have made. In the middle was a half-assed camp fire, which was good enough; they weren't spending very much time there, only the night for some grub and rest before making the next half of the trip tomorrow. He saw Hadvar sitting by the crackling fire, sharpening his blade with an edged rock, which looks like he cleaned off at the pond. The Dragonborn loosened his belt and released it from his waist, with it the sheathed sword and knife, and he tossed it down next to his knapsack and sat.

"You look different," Hadvar said, looking up and then back to his sword. "Almost like a baby."

The Dragonborn chuckled. "Well maybe this baby can fool some dragons into underestimating me."

"A real strategist, aren't you?" They were silent for a moment until the Dragonborn piped in again.

"Where's Jenassa?"

"Catching some meat for us to eat," The Dragonborn stuck his thumbnail between his two front teeth and scraped.

"I hope it's not fish," He pulled his thumb from his mouth and eyed the space in his nail to see if he had anything under it. "It's only good gourmet style; you know, deboned completely, grilled over a fire in a coating of olive oil and salt, and served with a side of buttered rice."

"Now you're making me hungry," Hadvar said. Jenassa returned with a sack carrying a wet package.

"Venison," she said, tossing it onto the Dragonborn's lap. "You look strange." And then she threw herself down onto a sleeping roll that she set out for herself, hands resting under her head.

"Much better than fish, at least," he mumbled to himself. He took out the same hunting knife he used to shave and sliced out smaller pieces of the venison for each of them, putting extra elbow grease into severing the tough strings of fat. Like the sticks campers would use to roast edible items of theirs, the Dragonborn unsheathed his sword and stuck the small cut outs of meat on the tips, and lifted it to cook over the fire.

While cooking, Hadvar copied his friend with the sword tip technique. The Dragonborn had mentioned the use of salt, and that it would taste better. He hoped that Jenassa would have salt in her alchemy supplies, but she insisted that she didn't have any.

Once a piece of meat was done cooking, they would hold it out away from the fire to cool, and then bring it to their mouths, chewing off bits of it. Of course, using a sword as if it were a fork is rather idiotic, and can risk slicing a tongue; not to mention, the possibility that constant exposure to the heat from the fire could melt the tips of their swords. It didn't matter; it was a technique in camp life that Legionaries did if they were too lazy to bring out utensils, just use their swords as forks; of course it helps with caution, especially since having a sword unsheathed in times of rest can better prepare a soldier for an ambush, or frost from the air locking the sword in its sheath can be prevented with the heat from the fire.

"So…" Hadvar said between chews. "We're seeing the Greybeards?"

"Yeah," the Dragonborn replied. "The point of me retrieving that horn was to be accepted to learn the final word of power for Unrelenting Force."

"What's…unrelenting force?"

"It's what I used to shout at the dragon we just killed," the Dragonborn said. "It's supposed to push the opponent back, but it wasn't as effective since I only have two words of power for it." Then spoke the accented voice of the Dark Elf.

"So if you return that horn, then you will know the last word of power for this…'unrelenting force'?"

"The Greybeards will teach it to me, yes," replied the Dragonborn. The dark elf, still on her knapsack, turned sideways and held her head up with her palm and arm acting as cup and beam, and she faced him.

"For five months, the Greybeards kept you on High Hrothgar; what happened while you were up there?"

"Nothing, really," said the Dragonborn. "Strange as it is, I was taught not only shouts, but meditating and study."

"An obvious threat to the world has returned and the Greybeards taught you how to meditate and study?" said Hadvar.

"I'm not too sure they are very much aware of any dragons returning, other than me," said the Dragonborn. "I'm not complaining about it though; meditation helped me find peace, especially after the war and dealing with the post stress. I'm afraid, though, that I won't be finding very much peace with upcoming events."

"Peace, huh?" Hadvar said. "Maybe I should try it sometime; after all, I'm a veteran too."

"What about your study?" asked Jenassa.

"Oh, I learned a lot," answered the Dragonborn. "Basically as time goes, I was given books to read on old history, especially when it comes to Nordic culture and the connection with the Dragonborn legend."

"What did you find out?"

"Well, the first Dragonborn emerged in the Merethic Era, the time after the dawn era," the Dragonborn said. "Miraak was his name, but though he was to fight the Nordic God of destruction, instead he allied himself with Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora."

"Ahh, the Nordic God of destruction…" sighed Hadvar. "Alduin was his name, a dragon he was. My mother used to tell me bedtime stories of the legend of the Dragon War and the Tongues. Bards here sing songs about Alduin." When the Dragonborn heard the name, his eyes went wide and he stopped what he was doing, hanging his head down to the ground.

"Wait a minute…" he spoke. Hadvar and Jenassa looked at him concernedly.

"What is it, Arminius?" Jenassa asked. The Dragonborn pondered for the moment, rubbing his chin.

"Where have I…we, heard that name before: Alduin?" Hadvar and Jenassa stared blankly at each other. The Dragonborn stood up and paced slowly back and forth, his hands resembling a thinking man as he crossed one and held his chin with the other hand. "That Dragon we fought the other day, when it spoke to the one that revived it, do you remember what it said?" Hadvar and Jenassa both shook their heads. "I learned some things in the dragon language, and one of them sounded like a name: Alduin…"

"I remember it too, now," Jenassa said. "I heard it mention something similar to Alduin." The Dragonborn reached out and put his hand on Hadvar's shoulder.

"Do you remember anything that came from those Bard songs?"

"They said things like, 'his wings made it dark in the sky,' and 'his scales sharp in size', 'black wings,' and things like that." The Dragonborn then realized.

"That Black Dragon that flew away, did it not have sharp pointy scales and black wings itself?" Hadvar scrunched his face.

"It did…but it can't be him, Alduin is just a legend."

"The people thought the dragons were just legend themselves," Jenassa added. But we all saw with our own eyes that they are not." Hadvar ran his hands through his Auburn hair.

"That couldn't have been him!" He argued. "That could not have been Alduin!"

"But it was," Jenassa said, "The Nordic god of destruction is a dragon, and like all other dragons, he has returned." Hadvar lost it, and he began frantically pacing back and forth with his head in his hands.

"No no no, this is bad, this is very very bad!" He cried. "We're supposed to stop a god of destruction with two soldiers, an archer, and a crazy woman?!" Jenassa watched the soldier mumble angry words to himself, and then she looked to see the Dragonborn's reaction. He was rather calm, kneeling down by the campfire with his hands laced together into a ball and covering his lips, staring into the flickering light of heat.

"Arminius?" She called softly to him. The Dragonborn still stared into the fire, imagining it as one eternal flame and scorched in it was Mundus with the surface charred and devoid of life. He felt the dark elf's hand rest easily on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Calmly, he said, "Look at this flame; imagine it covering the rest of mundus. Where would all who stand against Alduin be to stop this?" He stood. "In the stories, they speak of the Tongues, ones who defeated Alduin when the Dragonborn abandoned them." He stepped in front of Hadvar and stopped him with a palm to his chest, and Hadvar looked at him sadly. "Calm yourself, my friend," he said, reassuringly. "Would the Tongues have allowed their fear of a god to consume them?" Hadvar's shoulders droope and he lowered his head. "The heart of man does not wilt as easily as the High Elves would like to think," he chuckled at his joke, and Hadvar looked up, his expression lightening up and he laughed slightly with him. The Dragonborn went back past them and to the fire. "I am supposed to be Dragonborn, and though I know I am not ready, I know that I have to accept my divine duty as the savior of Tamriel." He turned to face the two. "But am I to be alone on this noble crusade? Are my friends to abandon me, nevertheless the rest of man and mer to prove their worth?"

"Well…no, Arminius, I wasn't going to just abandon you," Hadvar said.

"Neither was I," Jenassa added. The Dragonborn smiled.

"I never had any doubt."

"Friends to the end, am I right?" Hadvar said, returning the smile. The Dragonborn reached out and pulled them in closer by their shoulders.

"Of course," he said.

* * *

Whooshing over a dark sky was the Horned Black Dragon, Alduin, with his fiery eyes that glowed in the night. His many jagged spikes and horns from his natural armor of scales defined his form, and could strike fear into the hearts of many mortals, and even his other peers. He flew over what he was searching for, the temple of Skuldafn, found in the thick of the Velothi mountains.

An ancient citadel, Skuldafn was built as one of the largest Temples of the Old Nordic Dragon Cult, almost as large as a city. With many ancient stones stacked upon each other in statues and towers, and stairs and corridors, the place can be used as though it were a fortress despite its old mossy state. That is what the Nordic God of Destruction had planned.

Alduin swooped down and landed on an arc, the stones holding together like his weight was nothing, only allowing for dust and specks to topple down. Alduin retracted his wings and like a bat, wrapped them around himself, as he moved his head and eyes, looking around the area.

Several of his inferior Kinsmen circled overhead, roaring and letting them echo. One swooped down as well, this time the dragon had scales not as sharp of blade like as Alduin, or even black enough to relate. This Dragon had scales like most other Dragons, but had a unique coloring of red on top and a more yellow under side. This Red Dragon landed on a pillar as well, mimicking Alduin as it turned its murderous white eyes, pupils shaped like needles.

"Alduin," the Red Dragon acknowledged.

"Tiid lost meyz, Odahviing" said Alduin. "Dovahkiin lost daal ol pruzah ol Zu'u lost."

"Hi los wah praad un malaar ol . .. precaution, folov?" The Red Dragon, Odahviing, said.

"Nahkriin fent alok het," Alduin said. Odahviing gave a deep throaty laugh.

"This shall be fun," he said, and he and Alduin turned toward a single old coffin that was positioned out in the open, the middle of the surface. Immediately, Alduin began to speak more in his dragon tongue, voicing himself louder into a chant. Like with the last, thunder and lightning stuck as his menacing voice echoed, until eventually the lid to the coffin had bursted open, flying feet away from the main body. Rising out of it, floating, was a skeletal body that was dressed in torn robes with a lining of scales that were very dragon like going down its torso and across its shoulders. A circlet was placed on its head, just around a very strange mask that represented squinted humans eyes, but no nose or mouth.

Its hands were lifted as its body turned upright, and in one of its hands was a staff, grey colored for it was ancient, and its head modeled that of a serpent with its mouth hung open like it was ready to latch onto its prey.

After it moved away from the coffin, the skeletal figure in the Dragon Priest's outfit slowly looked up at Alduin. It raised its hands and bowed its head in praise.


	7. Chapter 5: Erik the Slayer

**I finished this 3,000 word chapter in a day. So I swear to god, I better have improved stats and more reviews. **

* * *

Their ride took them through the south of Eastmarch; as Eastmarch is the second coldest Province, it ironically has one of the most heated parts of Skyrim as well. They passed the geyser fields, a collection of shallow water bodies with seismic activity, and a faint rumble can be heard. The steam that rose from the heated water caused a lot of humidity, yet the warmth was satisfying to them; to the Dragonborn, it felt like the warmth of his homeland, Cyrodiil.

Their joy of the natural hot-fountains slowed down their travel, and it would take nearly a couple of days to go through at that rate. But they took the time to rest and bathe in the soothing warm waters of the outer bodies. The bodies going further toward the center would be much hotter and boiling, but the bodies to the outside were calmly heated like a sauna one would find at a spa house in Pre-War Cyrodiil, or a tub that was heated by fiery coal for a Princess to bathe in.

It has been a while since the Dragonborn has taken a proper Cyrodiilic bath, though cleaning himself in a natural body of water isn't necessarily considered refined. He grew up on a farm, however, and would occasionally bathe himself in a creek.

Since he came to Skyrim by order of his superiors, he had to step away from the comfort. In a Legion camp, he would have to go down to one of the cold rivers in Whiterun, and even then he wouldn't have time for too much of it can let your guard down and you can be killed by an ambush. The entire Legion adopted that after the incident at Valtheim Tower, on the east border of Whiterun hold. A Cohort of legionaries had few guards awake and the rest were sleeping in, most of them with their armor and weapons removed. An early morning surprise attack by the White Wolf and her Stormcloaks had caught all of them off guard and they were quickly defeated, and most of them were executed by order of the ruthless she-daedra, as Legionaries liked to call her. The news spread and all Legionaries learned that day to always be on guard in a land torn of conflict like Skyrim.

The Dragonborn now though, he can take a slightly longer rest in a bath now that the war was over, but not long enough for Dragons about. He can take longer baths now especially with the White-Wolf dead, and her slayer in his presence.

The Dragonborn took the time before the sun could set to release his furs and belts from him and set them aside. Now completely nude, he used his toe to check the water. It had a slight tingle to it, but most heated baths had; the condition was fine enough for him to easily sink himself into. When the waters made it past his crotch, the Dragonborn sighed in relief, and slipped farther into the tub like formation until his shoulders were below the surface. He closed his eyes and laid himself up against the surprisingly smooth boundary of the dirt-tub, and he couldn't help a warm smile to stretch across his face.

He could feel the water work his body like it had magic from Aetherius itself; his once aching and tight muscles stressed from physical demand found a sense of calm and they began to loosen from his bones. The knots in his back were uncoiled, as though the water had hands to massage him. He fell into great pleasure, and was on the border of falling asleep until someone cleared their throat near him. He opened his eyes and saw a figure standing close to him.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Was the voice of the dark elf, Jenassa, standing there nude like he, her hands covering her privates and breasts. The Dragonborn, confused he was, ascended slightly out of the water, exposing his shoulders. His face blushed slightly, and he could feel his heart beat race, and blood began to rush to his crotch; thankfully it was hidden below the ripples of the water.

"Uhh…" he stuttered slightly, and the dark elf tilted her head sideways, like a dog would. The Dragonborn, now that she was there in that form, would find it hard to deny her entrance; clever of her. "Come right in," he forced himself to say, and she stepped in, using her arms to elevate herself down into the water, temporarily exposing her privates and breasts. The Dragonborn caught a glimpse before she sank down; she had slight pubic hair atop her vaginal region, and her breasts were small but shaped droopily and lovely as hidden by her armor when donned.

The Dragonborn sighed shakily and laid his head back to face the sky, and he muttered under his breath; "Dibella, why must you do this to me so...?" Jenassa let herself slide in and relax like the Dragonborn did, and he tried to cloud the awkward silence resonating from him. He sunk back in again to his chin and said sarcastically, "I sure do hope Hadvar joins in as well."

"Don't mind if I do!" said the raspy voice of Hadvar, as he stepped up naked himself. The Dragonborn caught a glimpse of him, then put his hand up to his face and sighed, annoyed. Not giving any objections, the Dragonborn let Hadvar slip in with them.

"I suppose I should have asked you to bring me my mead…" a glass bottle was suddenly tossed at him, and the Dragonborn reacted quickly, splashing his hand out of the water to grab it.

"Already taken care of," Hadvar said.

"Huh," the Dragonborn muttered, and then began to drink from the glass.

After some time of cleaning, the three friends dried themselves off in the sun and re donned their clothing. Eventually they would make camp in a place much similar to where they bathed, and in the morning they would pack and be off.

They reached the hold of the Rift, a colorful set of woods and soil, much of it fertile to harvest crops, and many of the trees good enough for maple sap. The capital settlement of the hold was Riften, far down in the south east, a once seceded hold like Eastmarch. Instead of passing through the city where they would have to be stopped by multiple legionary guards, they decided to make a cut right through a narrow path, one that would lead them west directly to the former Ivarstead at the foot of the mountain they would have to climb.

At a point along the way, they found it was sunset once more, and they would have to make camp or risk being lost in the dark. The Dragonborn volunteered to be the one to gather sticks for the campfire, and he made off into the woods. Picking around through the fallen leaves, he found many worth twigs and he would gather then into his arm. This went on until he heard a bear's roar.

He froze in his tracks, wide eyed, and looked around. Aside from the bear roar came the loud distant voice of a young man.

The Dragonborn could make out what the man was yelling: "Back foul beast!" he warned. "Or taste the fury of my blade!" The Dragonborn looked in the direction where the scuffle was coming from, and he dropped the twigs from his arm and sprinted. He made his way up a small slope and over it he found a fairly large blonde Nord man in sleeveless Iron armor and a steel greatsword in which he had to wield with both hands. Beside his was the fur of a brown bear lying on its side, motionless, and in front of him now was a live bear roaring at him. The ferocious furry beast would lunge slightly, but would be batted away by a swipe of the man's sword, and he would give a hearty laugh.

"Haha!" he taunted, "You think you can best me, animal?!" And he swung his greatsword side to side, pushing back the bear. The Dragonborn pulled his sword out and was about to run down and help, but the young Nord was able to thrust his sword into the throat of the beast, and it fell at his feet. The young Nord pulled the sword out and laughed in victory, but turned his head and noticed the Dragonborn.

"Greetings traveler!" he said. "I see you have come to my aid; but no need to worry, a mighty adventurer such as myself has yet to be bested in battle!" The Dragonborn stood back, but from the corner of his eyes he noticed a pair of yellow eyes glowing in the shade, staring menacingly at the young Nord. As it revealed itself, it's golden coat of fur, sharp claws at the tips of its paws; a sabrecat! With a fearsome look, it snuck behind the Nord man and the Dragonborn leapt into action the moment that it was about to lunge.

"Watch out!" The Dragonborn said, rushing over and pushing the Nord man down to the ground and out of the way. Immediately, he sucked in a breath of air as the sabrecat reached its claws out for him. "FUS ROH!" And the aura energy of his Thu'um pushed, kicking up leaves and dust and forcing the ferocious cat back with a loud thundering boom. Then, the Dragonborn leapt forward like the sabrecat did and plunged his blade into its throat, twisting it to scramble the bloody meat inside.

It fell dead, and the Dragonborn pulled his sword out and expertly swung it around and sheathed it in victory.

"Woah," came the young Nord he just saved. "That…thing…that thing you just did with your voice! Is that…?

"A Thu'um?" The Dragonborn spoke for him, turning to face the young Nord slowly getting himself up from the ground. "Yes."

"A Thu'um!" he said. "I only know of two people down here that have the power of the voice, and that's the Dragonborn and the Jarl of Eastmarch!"

"Late Jarl of Eastmarch," the Dragonborn corrected him. "He's dead now."

"Yes, but then that must make you…are the stories true!?" His voice was rather, he would say, sounds very light, almost childish coming from a mouth with thick facial hair surrounding it.

"Dragonborn? Yes, you can say that."

"Oh, sir!" The young Nord grabbed his hand and vigorously shook it. "It is such an honor to finally meet someone like you!" The Dragonborn looked at him confusedly, noting the speed and force he puts into his hand shakes. "Oh I'm sorry, we should probably introduce ourselves more formally; my name is Erik, Erik the Slayer, and I'm from Rorikstead."

"Arminius Constantine, I'm from the farmlands of Eastern Cyrodiil."

"Eastern Cyrodiil? You don't look like an Imperial, what are you doing way up in the north?"

"I'm half Nord; and I could ask you the same thing, you being from Rorikstead and out here fighting large animals in the Rift."

"Well I'm an adventurer, and it seems like you are too, are you not? Being the Dragonborn and all, I bet you have seen some great adventure!"

"If fighting and killing in a civil war is what you consider a great adventure, then sure."

"The Civil War? Ah, I wanted to fight as a mercenary but I was held back," Erik said with such glory yet dissatisfaction in his voice; the Dragonborn almost found it pathetic how eager someone had to be to want to kill in a war. Erik seemed to display a lot of the traits of a storybook Nordic hero, or at least tried to be. It seemed more like it was just his inexperience, his young age, or just his ignorance; or maybe he was just a Nord, itching to fulfill his desire of a good adventure. He couldn't blame him; as a child in an orphanage, the Dragonborn wanted to travel the world, even to the savage land of Akavir.

"Trust me," the Dragonborn said. "You didn't miss anything worth experiencing." He then heard the footsteps of two people crunching through the leaves, and over the rise in the ground, Hadvar and Jenassa came. Jenassa had an arrow latched on the string of her bow already and was ready to shoot.

"Arminius!" she exclaimed.

"We heard your Thu'um from the camp!" Hadvar said.

"We came as quickly as we could!" The Dragonborn raised his hand.

"Relax, friends," he said and then motioned to Erik. "This is Erik; he was just out here fighting some bears and I saved his hide from a sabrecat."

The two friends lowered their weapons, and Hadvar said, "Well at least we have dinner for tonight."

By nightfall, they were able to gather the twigs needed to make a campfire, and they were generous enough to allow Erik to join them for dinner. Like before, they munched on the bear meat with their swords as forks as they listened to Erik tell his stories of all the things he has slain.

"…and once the beast fell slain at my hand, I collected its toe as a reward!" Erik exclaimed, and then bit off a piece of bread.

"No kidding?" Hadvar said through chews.

"I have it with me right now," Erik said, and then he reached into his bag and quickly pulled out a large grey toe the size of their heads, large slimy, moldy and greasy toe jam in its dirty chipped nail, and the smell of fleshrot stunk the air.

"Oh for Talos' sake!" Hadvar complained, trying to hold back vomit. The Dragonborn only held his nose and looked down as he continued eating, but the smell would only choke him, and Jenassa surprisingly felt little about it and continued to eat like it was nothing. Erik only held up the Giant's toe like a trophy until he put it back in his bag, and with the same hand that he used to hold it with, returned to eating his bread.

"If you could fight all of those creatures," Jenassa said. "Then is it possible you could fight dragons too?"

"Oh, well, people I've met have considered me to be…uhhh…headstrong, but for good reason," he explained. "I may have no experience in fighting dragons, but as I like to say: what I lack in experience, I make up for in courage!"

Hadvar leaned to the Dragonborn and said, "He does have good morale."

"Well, I bet you have slain some dragons yourself!" Erik said to the Dragonborn. "Tell me, please, what are they like and how do you slay them? I'm sure it's a great tale to tell."

"You want to know about Dragons?" The Dragonborn asked, and Erik shook his head eagerly. "They're beyond dangerous, and fighting them should not be taken lightly. In fact, it's best to avoid conflict with them if you can."

"They're a pain in the ass to kill too," Hadvar added. "You can't just slice and dice like you can any other animal, their skin is like an armor of its own, and their bones are nearly indestructible."

"But you have slain some, right?" Erik asked.

"Yes, I have," the Dragonborn replied. "The first time I had fifteen with me and nearly all of us were killed. The second time was with these two and someone else, and we barely got away with our lives."

"But we did kill it with your strategy," Jenassa said. "And there were no casualties."

"That must be a good story to tell," Erik said. "But regarding dragons, why do you think they are returning?"

"Someone we were with said that they were coming back to life and a big black dragon we believe to be Alduin is involved in reawaking them; from where Alduin came from, I don't know, and neither do any of us."

"Alduin?" Erik gasped. "No…"

"I had the same reaction…" Hadvar said.

"You mean what the bards sing of? The eater of worlds?!" Erik got close to the Dragonborn and grabbed him by the shirt. "The bringer of end times!?" Erik shook him. "THE SCORCHER OF MAN AND NIRN!?"

"WOULD YOU CALM DOWN!" The Dragonborn demanded, his voice rose annoyed, and he pushed Erik off of him.

"It is, isn't it?" Erik said. "And you have to be the one to vanquish this great evil?"

"Unfortunately," the Dragonborn replied. "But someone has to do it, who better than the Dragonborn?" Erik was silent for a moment, and it seemed like he was thinking to himself.

"That is a great and noble crusade, Dragonborn," Erik said. "Easily worth a story to tell your descendants, and for others to tell theirs." To the Dragonborn, he noticed that Erik has mentioned stories twice; did he have a fascination for stories? "For all my life I dreamt of embarking on a great adventure that is worth a story to tell in my time; but this…your crusade to defeat Alduin, the God of Destruction, the Bane of Kings! That is worth SONGS to be sung forever in the land of the living and in the halls Sovngarde!"

The Dragonborn nodded, and watched as Erik went down on one knee and bowed his head.

"Please, Dragonborn," Erik pleaded. "I beg of you this: to take me on this journey with you so that I may help you reach your victory over the Eater of Worlds, and that you may lead me to my dream of glory and an adventure worth a story to tell my descendants." The three friends looked at each other, and then back down to Erik who continued to bow. "Please."

The friends stepped away and huddled together.

"He's a little dramatic isn't he?" Hadvar said, chuckling.

"But like you said, he is worth the morale," Jenassa said.

"But he's barely out of his teens…" The Dragonborn said.

"Well you were too when you first came to Skyrim," Hadvar said. "To fight a war, nonetheless." The Dragonborn gave a sigh.

"I don't know…I'm not sure I should just bring him into all this; he's obviously bright and has a lot more to live for than to risk his life with us."

"And would rejecting him from this crusade not risk our lives?" Jenassa asked. "Think of it, it will give greater morale to our group and a new type of fighter in our ranks. If we accept him, then we'll have the Dragonborn, a seasoned soldier, a quick archer, and a slayer of beasts; and a slayer of beasts is what we need to slay beasts like Dragons. Plus, it will make our group larger, and we'll then have a likelier chance of killing a Dragon than last time, which if I do recall, was your plan to begin with, right? Find capable fighters to aid you on this quest?" They stopped and looked over their shoulders to see that Erik was still bowing. "Remember that speech you gave us nights ago, Arminius? That flame of the campfire, you compared it to a fire that would burn mundus at Alduin's command, and then you asked where would the heroes be to stop it from happening, the heroes of man and mer to prove their worth?" She pointed the Dragonborn to Erik and said, "He is only the first."

The Dragonborn thought long and hard on it and said, "Yes, you make a good case, Jenassa. I think now, maybe he will be good for us."

"Well, after all you can't crush his hopes and dreams of having a story to tell," Hadvar said and chuckled. They each laughed, and then turned to face the bowing Erik, and he looked up at them.

"Erik the Slayer, you are welcome to join us in our mission against Alduin."

With that answer, Erik's face brightened, and a smile stretched across it.


	8. Chapter 6: A Truth of War

In the morning they rose, and found that Erik was already packed and ready to go, jumping eagerly to be off. They continued their way west till they were nearing Ivarstead. On the trail, Erik would make talk of his stories, but in this particular moment, he started asking the Dragonborn about his experiences in the Civil War.

"So, Dragonborn," Erik spoke up.

"Please, just call me Arminius," the Dragonborn said, "or Constantine, which ever you prefer."

"Okay…uh…Arminius," Erik said. "What rank were you in the war?"

"I was a Legate," the Dragonborn replied. He figured to keep his answers short and simple and then maybe Erik will run out of questions to ask.

"How many have you slain?" The questions were beginning to get uncomfortable.

He hesitated to answer, but said, "I don't know."

"What were they like, the Stormcloaks?" Erik asked. "I heard they were fierce, courageous and held honor above all."

"Fierce, yes, they were tough to fight," he replied. "Courage and honor, I'm not so sure."

"What makes you not so sure?" The Dragonborn had to think about it, but it came out his mouth for he had thought it many times over.

"After my experience, I don't necessarily trust people who approach war so casually as though courage and honor had anything to do with it."

"You're saying fighting battles take no courage or honor?"

"You may have heard stories of the Stormcloaks, but you'd have to be there yourself to understand why they don't."

"Well why don't they then? What did they do?" The Dragonborn felt a wave of depressing emotions come back to him, memories of such a tragic time through his life. He closed his eyes, lowered his head and sighed.

Hadvar could see the hurt look in his expression and said, "You don't have to continue, Arminius." He then directed his attention to Erik. "Forgive him, Erik, he's been through a lot that he doesn't like to talk about."

"No…" The Dragonborn sighed. "No, it's okay; I think its best I tell him." Hadvar shifted in his saddle, the emotions that came to his friend stretched to him as well. "After our victory at the Battle of Whiterun, we finally were able to turn the Stormcloaks on the defensive. By the next year, we launched a final campaign on Windhelm, and I led a successful assault on Fort Kastav in the mountains. Little did we know that it was used as a prison camp."

The Dragonborn went silent, hoping he didn't have to continue, that Erik got the gist of it. But he was persistent; "What did you find?" He sighed again.

"Lashes, malnourishment, piled carcasses…" The Dragonborn, now that his visions came out, he looked back up and regained his composure. "They believed that they hated the Empire so much that they would gladly kill an entire race of humans so long as they were all Imperials."

"Was the Jarl of Eastmarch the same? Or was it just them?"

"He was worse," the Dragonborn said. "I met him once, you know? On a diplomatic mission; he liked to speak as though it was poetry, and liked to rant a lot about how the Empire has failed and how much he cares for his people." The Dragonborn scoffed. "He'd have gladly destroyed his own homeland if it meant he could at least be king of its rubble." They group was silent for a moment on the ride.

"Were the Stormcloaks really that bad?" The Dragonborn had many answers, but in all he was honest.

"No," he replied. "They had their reasons, like we had ours."

"What were their reasons?"

"Shor's bones boy!" Hadvar piped in. "You really don't know anything, do you?"

"Free reign to worship Talos," The Dragonborn said. "That's about the only noble thing."

"People couldn't worship Talos freely?" Erik asked, surprised. "That's strange, I've never heard of such a thing and my family worships Talos like no problem."

"Rorikstead must be a huge rock, right?" Hadvar said. "Cause you surely were living under one."

"So if there is a ban on public Talos worship, and the Stormcloaks wanted fee reign to worship…what does that make you?" Erik asked.

"A not proud, loyal soldier of the Empire," The Dragonborn said.

"But do you at least still believe in Talos?"

The Dragonborn hesitated at first, but he stopped himself and decided not to answer, remaining silent for the rest of the way. A matter of faith was too sensitive a topic to discuss; he's been through so much that his trust in the gods has dwindled.

Eventually, they saw the signs of Ivarstead, broken and abandoned as it was. Erik, upon seeing it, was surprised, thinking it would be full of happy little villagers.

As they began to pass through, he asked, "What happened here? Did dragons burn this place down?"

"Dragons are not what happened," Hadvar said. "The Fifth Legion is what happened."

"Legionaries did this?" Erik said. "I thought you said that they were helping Skyrim!"

"I never said such a thing," the Dragonborn said. "The Fifth legion used total war on the Rift, a strategy that wages war on the people, a policy that the fourth legion was very much against. Most of the citizens here didn't even support the Stormcloaks, and yet this happened…"

"It was going to happen one way or the other," Jenassa said, finally lifting her silence.

"She is right," Hadvar added. "When there is war, there is misery."

"Is war really like that, Dragonborn?" Erik asked, leaning over to look the Dragonborn in the face.

"Erik, do you want to remember something?" the Dragonborn asked, and Erik reluctantly nodded. "Wars should be avoided at best; but when they are started, they need to be fought so they could end. I believe that in all our hearts, we wage war so that one day they won't ever have to be waged again." Erik sat back on his horse and looked down and pondered on the little wisdom that the Dragonborn gave him.

"Come on, we're nearly to the bridge," Jenassa said. They crossed the rest of the old destroyed town and found themselves crossing the stone bridge that leads over the raging narrow river. On the other side would be the very base of the mountain, and the beginning of the stone steps that would lead them up to the temple of High Hrothgar.

* * *

What you see now is the Imperial city, and it is slow to reconstruct; however, most has been rebuilt to fit the living needs of lower and middle classes. It has been around 30 years since the sack of the city, and it has had time to heal.

In the residence of higher class, it was like it never happened. The fountains ran once more, the grass lawns were a healthy green, the statues were resculpted, and the manors were lively and rich.

A section of four manors on the stone street of a circle stood, and few came by. A rich red horse drawn carriage came strolling by, surrounded by mounted legionary vanguards on each of its corners. At some point, the carriage stopped and the one who had control of the reign hopped down onto the stone paved street. As the vanguard stepped down as well, the driver opened up the door to the side of the carriage, and on either side the four vanguards stood at attention staring straight ahead.

Out of the carriage stepped two high class men in formal attire, one Breton with long brown hair tied into a pony tail, and the other a High Elf with long white hair that was silky straight. They both looked around at their surroundings and then dead ahead was a large gate that led to the garden of one of the large manors opening. Toward them came a grizzly, yet noble looking orc with his two bottom teeth sticking out like a usual of his kiin would have. When he stopped in front of them, he bowed with politeness.

"Greetings, Councilors," he said in a gritty orc voice. "I am Yasug gro-Magah, the head servant to the house of Master Scipio, and it is an honor to receive you as his guest for dinner this evening. If you may, please follow me." The Orc servant, Yasug, turned and made his way back to the manor with the two Councilors and the vanguards following close behind.

The High Elf Councilor leaned over to the Breton and said, "I never knew Orcs could be this refined; not even our own Borumag and Lashz are like this."

As they passed the gate, the vanguard to either side of them turned and stood side to side next to the gate, and it was closed.

It was dusk now, and dinner in the Scipio manor had been served at a large table with a long red table cloth decorated with the Dragon symbol of the Empire. The councilors, who had greeted themselves to be Amaund Motierre, the Breton representative and Mearanil, the Alinor representative, were seated at the table and awaited for Scipio to enter the room.

In moments he did, hands raised and a slight smile on his face, yet it was ruined by his eye patch. He greeted them; "Welcome, welcome! Gentleman, Councilors; it is my pleasure to have you in the company of my home tonight for this 'feast of kings', shall I say?"

Mearanil, noting the food, said, "I can see you spared no expense to give us such a banquet for just the three of us, General; I can hardly say Motierre and I would be able to finish all this on just our plates."

"It is nothing to worry about, Councilor Mearanil," Scipio said. "The motive for me and my servant staff is to keep my guests lazy and happy, so be thankful for my generosity and eat away, and we shall discuss what we shall discuss."

Scipio himself sat down in the chair at the very end of the long table and cut into a piece of steak with his silver knife.

"So, General," spoke Councilor Motierre, "Your campaign against the barbarous rebels, I see that has worked out for you well in the end."

"It has," Scipio said. "The only way to fight barbarianism is to use barbarianism yourself. Fight fire with fire as some would say."

"Is your Legion still controlling the Rift now?" Councilor Mearanil asked.

"It is," Scipio replied. "Under competent governance of my trusted High Legate Hardeen; a proud Colovian that one is. With his help, all the businesses we have control over will supply us with the funds necessary for my plan." The councilors stopped cutting into their steaks and looked up at Scipio.

"What is this plan you speak of?" Motierre asked. Scipio set down his utensils and laced his fingers together, as he gave a snaky smile.

"A Plan to further Thalmor interest across the Empire, which I am sure would capture your utmost attention, would it not?" Scipio said. The two Councilors looked at each other and then back to the one eyed General. "I assume that means you two: full supporters of Thalmor expansion, are interested in what I have to propose?"

"Then what is it that you propose in the good name of the High Elves?" Mearanil asked. Scipio smiled more now and he leaned into the table, ready to speak his mind.


	9. Chapter 7: Final Greeting

In his dreams, he could see his burdens, like daedra whispering them into his ears, mocking him even. A soldier would fall dead in the blood stained snow, his heart pierced by a sword and spilling it's life like a tipped chalice of mead. But then he could see hundreds charred alive and stuck in the position that they fearfully posed before tasting oblivion. A mother, burnt like the rest, holds her child, hopeless and waiting to travel to Aetherius. He, in the middle of it all, reached out his hand and touched the flaky skin, but immediately the mother and child's forms fell in ashes.

He stepped back, staring at the floating specks of what used to be live people. Then he heard a dragon's roar, and he frantically shot his head around to find the source. From the blotted sky of smoke appeared the big black dragon, Alduin, jagged spikes colored of soulless dark blood. With no sword or shield, he tried to turn and run, but he was stuck in place, the world holding him back like thousand pound boulders were chaining him. His throat closed up and he choked on his own saliva as he watched the dragon fly in closer and open its mouth. Closer it came, then eye to eye; it snatched him up in its maw. The teeth drove deep into his skin, stabbing through organs and breaking through bones.

The Dragonborn shot awake with a gasp and continued panting; sweat rolling down his forehead indicating his body was in a panic while he slept. He was uncomforted by overwhelming heat while wrapped up in his knapsack, and so he sat up and slipped out of it. His chest rose and lowered to his breathing as he was fatigued, but the frosty cold air of the mountainside stung his lungs and pained his inner mouth greatly.

It was just a dream he would tell himself; but as priests would say, dreams had a hidden message. Maybe the Daedric Prince, Vaermina of dreams and nightmares has cursed him, or is warning him of a dark future. Whatever the unfortunate may be, he had to release his mind.

The Dark Elf of the group had been awoken as she felt a disturbance about her presence. Looking around, she slipped out of her knapsack and lifted her hand, palms upward and a light of flame emerged in a flickering place like she held a chalice. She saw the Dragonborn off near the edge of the cliff, sitting criss-crossed in front of one of the plaques and without a top on. She immediately became concerned; so to him she walked, but not without retrieving his fur cloak first.

When she neared him, she bent her knees and draped the cloak around his shivering form, and reached her palm out in front of him and casted the fire again while her other arm rested around his shoulders.

She had many things she could scold him for now, but seeing him cold and sad brought more worry to her about him than his simple stupidity that angered her. Instead of asking why he would so carelessly threaten his health in such a condition where his blood could freeze, she asked him, "Are you okay?"

She could feel his back rise and fall to his breaths; something had disturbed him greatly. "What happened?" The young man still shivered through her warmth, and couldn't speak. "Arminius," she said softly, and he finally found the comfort in her presence to talk, despite struggling through jitters.

"I…there was so much fire…it could melt skin…burn you in place…" he said. "I wanted to forget that in this…cold, but now I have forgotten, and I can find warmth in the light of your fire from a source more kind than a Dragon's throat."

"You had a dream," Jenassa said. "You are here now, none of what you felt was true." He leaned into her, and she gladly accepted him into her arms. She ran her fingers across his forehead and through his hair to wipe away the frost, and he dug his nose into the safety of her chest. Jenassa held his head softly to her, and they would stay like that until he would stop shivering.

"We should keep moving higher," the Dragonborn said as he looked up at her. "This mountain trail is dangerous; we would be safer in High Hrothgar."

"If that is what you wish Arminius; I shall awake the other two and we should be of."

And so the rest had been awakened, and they packed their camp and continued upward. The group was positioned like a double file line; Hadvar and Erik in the back while the Dragonborn and Jenassa led. From behind, Hadvar observed the two in front, and it seemed to him that Jenassa rode closer next to the Dragonborn than before, and was almost like she had the essence of protection over him.

"Are those two in union?" he was snapped out of his thoughts by the first of a series of nettlesome questions that would be asked by Erik. This first question, however, had caught him by surprise as what Erik had asked passed him.

"I'm sorry?"

"The Dragonborn and the Dark Elf," Erik said. "Are they in union?"

"No," Hadvar laughed. "No; Jenassa, she's…she's just really concerned for him, that's all."

"Hmm, but he's Dragonborn," Erik said. "He's glorious in combat, right? Do his friends need to worry so much for him?"

"He's good in combat, you are right; both in and out of formation," Hadvar said. "We don't worry about his skill, we worry about his well-being. He's just been burdened with saving the world after he has gone through so much already."

They continued on, and further up they went, the stairs wrapping around the cliff side. Eventually, at a very high altitude, they were able to make out the stone engravings, two flights of stairs curving past either side of a tall watchtower, and the ends of the stairs were two large doors made of the same material, leading into the large structure of the temple.

They neared and dismounted their horses, leaving them off juxtapose. The four ascended up the right staircase but the Dragonborn stopped and turned to them when they reached the door.

With the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller in his hand, he said, "I'm going to get this to the Greybeards, and then they will give me their final greeting."

"And then we can travel back to Riverwood and make our plan with Delphine," Hadvar said.

"So, what're we waiting for?" Erik asked, and he made his way forward but was stopped by the Dragonborn's hand to his chest.

"No," he said. "The Greybeards have unimaginable power within their voices, and I have no idea what kind of power this final greeting will be thrust upon me. For your safety, I'll ask you three to remain out here until it is over."

"We came all this way just to get shunned out?" Erik said, and Hadvar laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Let him do what he needs to do," he said. "After that, we'll be off."

The Dragonborn entered, pushing the stone doors open and closing them behind him. The Temples interior was very artistically designed, many engravings carved into the walls, pillars with the forms of dragons, and walls with the pictures of stories. In the middle of the great room was a large space, where before he had taken his first lessons with the Greybeards. Right there was one of them, and he stood up from the ground and turned.

"Master Arngeir," the Dragonborn greeted, and he held up the ancient Horn to show.

"Dragonborn!" Master Arngeir acknowledged, his old voice weak and raspy. "So you have returned with the horn of Jurgen Windcaller. It must have been a journey there and back again." The Dragonborn handed Arngeir the horn and then he bowed respectfully to his teacher.

"I had some help…" he said. Arngeir had tucked the horn away into his robe.

"I assume you want to waste no time in receiving our final greeting? Come then, and we shall commence."

At some point in his time in the room, the Dragonborn found himself standing in the very center of the dimly lit stone room, and the four masters had stood surrounding him. They each looked to one another and nodded toward each other. The combined might of the voices of the three Masters who couldn't speak; what was the Dragonborn to expect?

Arngeir spoke; "You are ready to learn the final word of Unrelenting Force: DAH."

One of the masters, Wulfgar, leaned forward and whispered "Dah" faintly, and out came a small scale of the aura energy. It whooshed onto the floor and sizzled, and from the impact radius came the burned bright dashes of the word Dah in the dragon language's writing. The Dragonborn stepped up to it, kneeled down and wiped his fingers underneath the formed word, staring into it. As though he could feel its energy running through his fingertips and up his arm, he closed his eyes and breathed in. The knowledge of the word and its written form had been burned into his mind painlessly, like it did to the floor. He opened his eyes again to see that the burning light of the word had faded, and was now just a scar in the ground; he had learned it.

He stood up again, the word Dah buzzing, soaring through his head like a million voices whispering into his ears at once.

"With all three words together, this shout is much more powerful," Arngeir said. "Use it wisely."

The Dragonborn could feel himself grow stronger, and now light aura energy stretched itself from master Wulfgar to him. An exchange of knowledge and understanding, so unique an exchange to the Dragonborn only, it howled like wind. New knowledge and understanding, out of nowhere, was born into his mind. FUS ROH DAH; it all came together so perfectly. Now he was powerful.

"Now, Dragonborn, stay right where you are and prepare yourself," Arngeir instructed. "Few can stand the unbridled voice of the Greybeards. But you are ready."

He did as they said, and he prepared himself to receive the greeting that he would have. Simultaneously, they began to chant in the dragon tongue, the language of the Thu'um. The Dragonborn was shook violently, as though a Nirnquake had hit the temple. Such a vibration as violent as what he experienced can send the snow on the mountainside into an avalanche, and through it all he began to worry about the well-being of the three that awaited him outside the temple.

The Greybeards would stop shortly, and though his legs wobbly, he would manage to gain his footing before the masters would speak again, and again he shook violently. He was brought to his knee, hand on the ground for support. This would move on, and surely he would fall further to the floor; but at last, the trial was over, the masters are done.

And Arngeir whispered… "Dragonborn."

The Dragonborn pushed the door out and stepped into the cold air of the mountain top. The three had casually been sitting around, Jenassa moving back and forth until they all noticed him.

"Arminius!" Hadvar shouted. "What happened in there?"

"There was a Nirnquake," Erik said. "Was it a Nirnquake?"

The Dragonborn, still slightly dizzy, said; "Do not worry friends, my trials are over."

"What did they do to you?" Jenassa asked with concern.

"They only made their final greeting; I am officially Dragonborn."

"Well," Hadvar said. "I guess this means we won't have to be climbing seven thousand steps again?"

"We will have to climb down it, though," the Dragonborn said, and Hadvar scoffed.

"What do you say then, Arminius? Shall we be off?" Jenassa said.

"We shall; we must make haste quickly back to Riverwood, and meet Delphine back at the Sleeping Giant Inn."


	10. Chapter 8: Mjoll the Lioness

It was nearing the end of that day, and finally the group had reached the foot of the mountain on horseback. Even though they were riding, the countless hours of being awake and emotionally draining work of riding had taken a lot out of them and they wanted to stop in the destroyed town of Ivarstead for shelter. Before they crossed the narrow raging river, they saw in the distance what looked like the forms of people; legionaries to be more precise.

After they had crossed the stone bridge, the sight of the legionaries grew clearer. They were spread out, searching through each abandoned building complex. What was strange to the Dragonborn was the fact that there were so many different races that donned the Imperial armor, and a lot of them had armor that was not in sync with each other; in other words it seemed like a highly disorganized force.

As their horses trotted slowly through the town, snorting, several of the supposed legionaries eyed them. This was until one of the Legionaries stopped in the way of the riders' path, legs spread wide and balancing on a long battle-axe. This legionary was an Orc, bottom buck teeth like the rest of his kiin, and most of his armor being logical to light infantry; but what was an orc doing at light infantry? And why was this light infantry-men carrying a two handed war-axe?

Hadvar leaned in to the Dragonborn from his mount and whispered soldier talk: "Is it me, or is it that these soldiers have a strange vibe to them? Are they from the fifth legion?"

"I don't think so," the Dragonborn said. They noticed more of these 'legionaries' emerged from the ruined buildings slowly and watched as they were passing by. The Dragonborn caught sight of one in particular, a woman with red war paint around her eyes and moving down her cheeks. "I don't think they are legionaries at all; look at that woman right there…" he said motioning to who he was talking about.

Hadvar saw her, and then he asked, "How many women do you know who are in the legion?"

"Only one, and that's Legate Rikke," the Dragonborn said. "Even worse, look what she's wearing: an Officer's helmet with light armor?"

"This is strange," Hadvar said. "And war paint? Is that even allowed in the Legion?"

"It isn't," the Dragonborn said, and then he spoke slightly louder to Jenassa and Erik behind him, "Be on guard." They halted their horses and they whinnied as soon as they were relatively close enough to the Orc that stood in their path with the war-axe. The horses stomped their feet, and the Dragonborn eyed the legionary down. "I'll speak to this man," he said, and he hopped off the left side of his horse. He then grabbed at his circular steel shield that was held at its handle by a hook on the saddle, and he adjusted it to fit in his hand as he walked closer to the Orc, but far away enough to speak so everyone could hear.

"Greetings, citizen of the Empire," the Orc grunted. The Dragonborn kept his shield beside him, but his hand rested on the handle of the imperial sword in his right sheathe.

"Evening, soldier," he said. "May I ask what your unit is doing here in the abandoned Ivarstead?"

"We are here to collect, uhh…, road taxes," the Orc said. "To continue on, you must pay the fee." The Dragonborn looked back at Hadvar, who then nodded his head slightly.

To the other two he turned and whispered what would be the Dragonborn's orders: "Dismount and form a perimeter, but do not draw weapons yet." They each began to do as he said, and the Dragonborn looked back to the Orc. He reached inside the collar of his shirt, and from its leather stings around his neck, he pulled out a necklace that was in the shape of the symbol of the Empire; a triangular like dragon, made of silver. It was standard for every legionary to have this as a mark of their service in the military, regardless in uniform or not.

He held the necklace up for the Orc to see and said, "Soldier, I'm a Legate in the fourth Legion: Skyrim, I do not recall Legionaries being authorized to collect road tax." The legionaries around them went silent for a moment, as the Dragonborn stuffed the necklace back into his collar. "Would you care to give me your name, rank and legion, soldier?"

"Lieutenant Mathul, eighth legion," the Orc replied.

"By lieutenant, do you mean Praefect?" the Dragonborn said.

"Uhh, yes sir, I mean Praefect Mathul of the eighth legion, sir," he replied, stuttering slightly. He was beginning to expose himself more to the obvious.

"That's funny," the Dragonborn said. "Last time I remembered, the Eighth legion is posted down south in Cyrodiil along the Valenwood border. What are soldiers in equipment that's not up to standard from the eighth legion doing all the way up here in Skyrim collecting tax they are not authorized to collect?"

The Dragonborn could hear rustles and light cackles of swords in sheathes. He looked around and saw that some of the fraud legionaries had gained a tighter hand on their swords, or were beginning to raise their two handed weapons in such a silent manor of nerves.

"Why do you do this?" He asked. "Bandits are probably better off dead." This seemed to have angered the Orc, and so he lifted the war axe and readied it in his hands to strike. The others around them drew their weapons as well, and the woman with the war paint lifted her hands and a magical aura appeared from her palms and a sizzling of frost could be heard. The group had drawn their weapons too, Erik and his Greatsword, Hadvar and his sword and shield, and Jenassa with her bow drawn back and an arrow trained on one.

"You have one chance to hand us over your loot," the Orc threatened. The Dragonborn with a straight face, unsheathed his sword but stood rather lazily in form.

"I don't negotiate with bandits, or frauds," he said.

Jenassa noticed the female ice mage with her hands ready to cast spikes, and she took her as the most prominent threat to them right now. Suddenly she adjusted quickly so the arrow was trained on her and she released. The arrow flew forward at a hundred miles per hour and struck the ice mage clean through the eye, the point protruding out the back of her head when she fell flat on the ground.

Then the engagement began; all the bandits in the legionary armor, now without a mage to back them up, leaped forward, jumping over fences and bursting out of doors. Jenassa expertly drew her shots and downed three more coming at her with extreme precision, nailing them clean through their skulls or dead in their necks. Hadvar engaged one with a critical shield bash, sending him backwards to the ground, and then blocked several more. Erik, with his brute Nord strength swung his sword over top like a rainbow and countered the incoming sword of another, then he swept the weapon underneath at his legs and tripping him to the ground; he then flung the giant weapon over top again and brought it down on the bandit beneath him, the blade cutting him clean in half in a mess of guts and spinal.

The Dragonborn, refraining from using his new-found power of the Thu'um, allowed the Orc to charge at him and swing the war-axe overhead; his mistake. He stepped once to the side, and the war-axe's blade struck the ground instead. This left room for him to drive his sword into the Orc's neck, to cut straight through the tendons and larynx; and that he did.

The moment was too fast for him to pull out his imperial sword, so instead he switched to the sword on his back sheath and drew it. It was a steel sword, longer than the Imperial one; for this he threw to the side his shield as it was how he fought with a longer sword.

Several more came at him, and he expertly dodged, swung, twirled his sword, blocked, and countered each one. The first, he drove the sword clean through the leather armor of his chest; the next, he had blocked flexibly enough to send the opponents sword back, and he spun around once like a dancer and used that as his memento to slash across the bandit's neck. Another, he swept at his legs, slicing through the tendons and bringing him to his knees; then he drove the sword through his back, the tip poking out his chest, and he ripped it out with full force.

As he finished slashing down one more, he could sense a presence charging behind him. He turned quickly and saw the face of another angry bandit. The Dragonborn lifted his sword to counter the attack, but the Bandit was stopped dead. Confused, the Dragonborn looked down to see the large end of a greatsword sticking out of his stomach, and then retracted back in. The Bandit dropped to his knees and then face down onto the floor, making way for the Dragonborn to see who thrusted the sword inside for the kill.

Surprisingly, nobody he had recognized. It was a woman in Iron Armor, a larger woman at that; probably a Nord. He could see blue war paint shaped like a razor going down the right side of her face; her hair was blonde and her exposed arms were rather toned for the size of a woman. Just what he thought, she wielded a great sword in her two hands, and a shield rested on her back.

Arminius would've thought of her as a bandit; but what bandit would kill another bandit of her own group. She, however, didn't have on any Imperial armor to act as an imposter; she couldn't have been a part of this group, but maybe another.

Regardless, Arminius' grip on his steel sword tightened, ready to receive an attack from her, though he doubted she would give him any. He eased while facing her in the next couple of seconds though; she did not have an expression any angry bandit part of a group being defeated would have. Instead, she caught a look at Arminius and then gave a sly reassuring smile before snapping past him to counter another enemy that came behind.

Arminius watched as she took this one down with skill, and then another, and another. He, however, after her third kill, was snapped out of his gaze with the yell of another bandit charging straight for him. He reacted with a simple stab through the bandit's chest, and he turned back to her.

Above the scuffle, he yelled: "Who might you be?" And he swapped away another attack from a battle axe.

She pulled her sword out of a body and answered: "I'm Mjoll! I thought you might need a hand!" Arminius held his blade downward and stabbed another bandit in the stomach and sliced sideways, creating a massive bleeding hole for intestines to drop out.

"We have it under control!"

Mjoll brought another to his knees and in one swipe, decapitated him. "What's your name?"

The Dragonborn fought one to his knees, and grabbed him by the throat; pulling out the hunting knife from his lower back sheathe, he flipped it downward in his grasp and roughly drove it through the bandits skull. "Arminius."

It seemed now that the sound of the scuffle has died down; Arminius looked around to see nothing but the dead bodies, the blood stained dirt, and his fellow comrades who had stayed alive. They had won this conflict. Arminius breathed heavily, relocating his blade back with its proper sheathe, and he rested his tense shoulders.

"Nice to meet you, Arminius," now that it was clearer to hear, the Dragonborn could tell that she had a very thick Nordic accent; a lot of tongue clicks to her words. He faced her, and noticed that she was splashed with dots of blood, which she was rubbing at to get off.

"Likewise, Mjoll," he said. "We could've handled these guys on our own, but thanks anyway." Mjoll had darted her head around until she had caught her focus on something, like some bandit that was wounded trying to hobble away with an arrow in his knee. She sprang after him, and with no effort at all, she caught him in a tackle to the ground. The bandit shrieked in fear as the large Nord lass turned him over on his back and caught a tight hold of his collar, pulling him close to her face.

"Where is it?" She interrogated.

"Where is what? I don't know what you're talking about…ahhh!" She threw a punch into his face.

"My sword! Where is Grimsever you cowardous Milk-Drinker?"

"Ehh! We took it away, to a fort!"

"What fort?" she eyed him closely.

With hesitance and a terrified stare, he answered: "Helgen." Mjoll stared down at him angrily, but sighed and in moments released hold of his collar, allowing for him to crawl into a stance and start limping away.

Arminius and the other three strolled up beside her kneeling form as they watched the bandit try to escape.

"He's a bandit, I would've killed him," Arminius said.

Suddenly, a bow string had squeezed and flew forward an arrow which struck the bandit in the back. The bandit threw his hands up, letting out a yell, and he splashed face first into mud. They each looked beside them to see that Jenassa just lowered her bow.

"Like you said, you would've killed him," she said. Arminius looked at her in disbelief for a few moments more; she wasn't the kind to shoot someone while they were retreating. Regardless, the threat had been dealt with, and the man she killed was a bandit. He nodded, and then looked back to Mjoll, who had gotten up to face them.

Suddenly, Hadvar piped in to introduce himself: "I'm Hadvar," he motioned to Jenassa. "That's Jenassa, Erik," he said, then Erik waved with a goofy smile to her. Hadvar patted Arminius on the shoulder; "This is Arminius, the Dragonborn."

"Dragonborn?" Mjoll stood up stiff. "Is that true? You're Dragonborn?"

How Arminius answered: he put his hand to her chest and she slowly backed off to the side, eyeing him as he stepped up to face a clearing. Once he was ready, he huffed in his chest, and spoke out loudly the words of Unrelenting Force.

"FUS ROH DAH!" With a strike of thunder, the great big aura shot forward from his mouth, expanding as it went. In its path it left a trail in the ground from which the force made contact with, and pushed away most things in the way; bodies went flailing and tore apart, a carriage was thrown and it forcefully rolled away, losing most of its parts. Arminius took clumsy steps back in shock, blinking while being supported by two of his friends by the shoulders.

"Are you okay?" Jenassa asked. Arminius covered his eye with his palm and cringed, attempting to hold back a headache.

"Yeah," he grogged, "Yeah, I'm fine; I'm just not used to this kind of power, is all."

"So you really are Dragonborn," Mjoll said, crossing her arms. "What need of the world for a Dragonborn at this day and age?" Arminius sniffed, and gently held back his two friends from his shoulders.

"Dragons," he answered. "My own kinsmen if you would like to say." He could hear Erik behind them give a small chuckle. Mjoll brought her hand up to her chin and slowly paced back and forth, thinking.

"So the stories are true...dragons have returned, Dragonborn has returned," Mjoll stopped again and faced him once more. "And fate of all rests on the shoulders of heroes."

"If you can consider two soldiers, a mercenary, and a beast slayer, heroes, then sure," Arminius said.

"We did slay a Dragon once, at Kynesgrove," Jenassa said. Mjoll's eyes widened in shock, and she leaned forward.

"You slayed the dragon at Kynesgrove?" She asked. "I heard about that Dragon sighting; they explained that it was frantic, just breathing fire everywhere on a hill."

"More like shouted fire," Arminius said.

"But it wasn't seen again," Mjoll said. "And you said you slayed it."

"Erik here had kind of the same reaction just before he joined us," Hadvar said.

"So you are on a journey to stop the dragons…would be an interesting tale to tell," Mjoll said.

"Again, Erik said the same thing," Hadvar said.

"It's a real burden," Arminius said. "And as you can see…" he lifted his arms to have her gander at the bloody mess of dead bandits around them. "Dragons are not the only threat to us." Hadvar stepped up and piped in, tapping his fingers to each word he said in a count off.

"Bandits, Thieves, Assassins, Thalmor…" he said, though funny enough, they only just come across bandits; but Arminius has no doubt that they would run into others out here.

"Giants, Trolls, werewolves, vampires…" Erik added, though silly to mention werewolves and vampires. Arminius thought of those creatures only as legends, but even before when sitting in an Imperial encampment he would hear howls at the dead of night. He would tell himself they were just wolves, but the howls had a chilling sound to them, far beyond any wolf he has listened to. As for vampires, he didn't believe in such a thing. What he did believe in was what he saw and fought hand to hand once in a tomb when he was searching for the Golden Claw.

Calmly, Arminius added that new threat himself; "Draugr…"

"Hmm," Mjoll nodded her head. "There was one thing that was my nemesis and that was thieves, but now it's bandits."

"Why the sudden change?" Arminius asked. Mjoll stepped off and knelt down to search the dead body of the bandit she decapitated.

"Well, after years of adventuring, I decided to settle down for good," she said. "Riften was the only option for me. Unfortunately, the city was plagued with corruption; the Thieves Guild and the Black-Briar family. I've fought to keep them at bay for years, but then the Imperials came along and stopped everything; they even saw me as a threat and forced me out of the city."

"You've got to be kidding me," Hadvar said.

"Under Governor Hardeen, they have complete control over all aspects of business there; I just hope that their negotiations with the Black-Briars don't end with Maven taking over."

"So you're banished from your own city…what have you been doing now?" Arminius asked. Mjoll pulled out a pouch of coins tied in at the top with a string and she stuffed it into a bag of her own.

"The next best thing I could do: bring justice outside of the city; as you can see, I've made a habit of fighting bandits to keep the roads safe. I've been doing this for many months, bringing justice to wherever is needed." Mjoll stood back up and faced them once more, but an awkward silence had fallen.

"You know," she said. "During my time in Riften, they called me the Lioness."

"Mjoll the Lioness, eh?" Hadvar said. "Suits you quite well seeing how you took care of those bandits."

"Bandits aren't as much a problem anymore, right? With Dragons about…" she said. "I have followed stories of certain villagers across the holds; and like you, I've been trying to figure out where these Dragons are coming from, and why they are returning."

"We believe it has something to do with Alduin; have you ever heard that name before," Arminius asked.

"Alduin?" Again, Mjoll brought her hand to her chin and began to think. In moments, she answered: "Yes, I have heard that name. My mother and father used to tell me stories when I was just a little girl. The Nordic God of Destruction, the eater of worlds, brings pain and suffering to Nirn so it can be reborn again, and he can do it once more."

"Then you understand how dire this situation could possibly be," Arminius said.

"If no one took action, then where would the justice be in the end of the world? But here you four are, taking action; yet, we're all stuck just fighting bandits who have turned a blind eye to the future."

"Are you imposing to join us?" Arminius said.

"Well, yes of course, but…"

"What is it?"

"I don't have my sword," she said. Confused, Arminius looked over her to see the handle of her greatsword; this was in his sight, yet she said she didn't have a sword.

"But you have one right there," Hadvar said, as though he had read Arminius' mind.

"No, I mean my real sword, the one that was stolen by bandit trash," she looked over to the body of the dead bandit she interrogated lying face down in the mud with an arrow sticking out of his back. "Thankfully, that one over there talked."

"What's important about this sword that needs to be recovered in place of your current weapon?" Arminius said.

"Have any of you ever wielded an enchanted sword?" They all shook their heads.

"Is that sword enchanted?"

"Frost Damage, it could freeze someone's wound once they are slashed with it; Grimsever is what it's been named."

"Arminius," Jenassa said to him. "The use of an enchanted sword could prove well for us on this mission."

"Indeed," Arminius nodded, and he turned his gaze back to Mjoll. "Where is this sword now?"

"It's been driven off to Helgen, the fort that was supposedly attacked by a Dragon."

"It was," Hadvar said. "Arminius and I were there when it happened."

"I suppose you're lucky to live another day then," Mjoll said. "Well, Bandits have made use for it as a headquarters. If I was to help you out, you must first help me out and get that sword back." Arminius looked to each of his comrades, who each gave him a nod of approval for this new task.

"Right, our destination is past that way anyhow," he said, and took a step. "We'll help you get your sword back, and then you will join us, right?"

Mjoll nodded: "You have my word; I want to see justice done."

"Let's not waste anytime then."


	11. Chapter 9: Councilor Moria Galenus

Though Mjoll didn't have a horse to ride on, she took to sharing the saddle with Arminius. As they began to hit through the cold southern mountain pass, Erik rode up next to Arminius' horse and began talking with Mjoll.

"So…uhh…Mjoll, is it?" Erik greeted.

"You forgot already?" Mjoll said, flatly.

"No," he replied. "That is your name right?" She smiled and looked on ahead, as though she was laughing internally. "Well, you have seen great adventures, haven't you?" Mjoll turned her head back to Erik.

"Yes, that's true," she said. "Ever since I came of age and left the comfort of my home."

"How old does that make you now?" Erik asked.

"About thirty years," she answered. "How about you?"

"I'm 19…but I've seen plenty of adventure already!"

Hadvar from off to the side jokingly commented: "If you could say killing a bunch of bears is an adventure then sure." They each laughed, Mjoll, Hadvar, and Arminius, heartily, but Erik scoffed.

"A war is an adventure too, right?"

"Hey, a war is plenty of an adventure!" Hadvar said. "Why, I've been to the far ends of Skyrim because of my service."

"Same as I," Arminius said; though his friends only knew of some of his adventures. There were some he liked to keep secret.

"So how old does that make you then, Dragonborn?" Mjoll asked. Arminius snorted out his nose, and answered the question far beyond what was asked.

"Still relatively young, 23 exactly," he said. "Hadvar would be 25, and Jenassa back there…" Mjoll turned to see the quiet dark elf that looked up at her with a strange dark glare in her slanted red eyes. "She would be just over 200 now."

"You must've seen some adventure yourself, considering your real old age," Mjoll said to her.

"200 years is still relatively young in the average lifespan of an elf," Jenassa said. "But yes, I have seen adventure; being the former leader of a mercenary group helps."

"She doesn't like to brag, but she is a deadly shot," Arminius told Mjoll. "So deadly, in fact I believe that her skill can rival that of Aela the Huntress of the Companions."

"Can she now? Aela the Huntress is renowned throughout Skyrim to be the best Nord Archer there is," Mjoll said.

"And I believe that Jenassa is the best Dark Elf archer there is," he said, and they heard Jenassa blow some air out her nose like a small laugh. Arminius thought on continuing the conversation, and with the direction and subject they have taken of this 'Aela', it would probably be great if he was to share a similar story that could surprise his companions.

"I met her once, you know?" he said. "Aela the Huntress, that is."

"You met Aela the Huntress!?" Erik bursted in, to the Dragonborn's expectation, surprise.

"You did?" Hadvar came in. "When was this, during the war?" Arminius gave a slight laugh.

"During my time in Riverwood, when you're uncle sent me out to Whiterun to get help," he answered. "I was going along the road to the outside of the city, just across the creek; and I stopped when I saw a Giant stomping it's foot down on a farm."

"Did you fight this great Beast?" Erik asked, obviously by his voice whenever a Giant was involved in a story he would immerse himself in it.

Arminius laughed: "Of course not, I was just a simple soldier then. Instead the warriors of the Companions were out there slashing their way at its ankles; I just stood back and watched in amusement. But I did see her, shooting arrows in its head pretty quickly, and once she got it in the eye it fell dead."

"Amazing," Erik whispered. "Then what happened?"

"I had the indecency to approach them and introduce myself after I had made them do all the work," he said.

"Uh-oh," Hadvar giggled.

"…I was still naïve then. Needless to say, she came up and talked to me and said…" In the best impersonating voice he could make: _'Well, that thing is dead now, no thanks to you.' _"So then I said: 'It seemed like you had it under control."

"Oh that's far worse," Hadvar laughed more.

"What?! They really did have it under control," Arminius said. "And you know what she said to me? _'HA! You sound like a milk-drinker!" _

They each laughed together and Mjoll said, "The famous Aela the Huntress called you a Milk-Drinker, huh?"

Hadvar repeated and added more detail to the sentence: "The famous Aela the Huntress called the DRAGONBORN a milk-drinker."

"Well, she didn't know I was Dragonborn at that time, and neither did I," Arminius said. As the laughter died down, he sighed and muttered under his breath, "Wonder what she'd say about me now."

* * *

We find ourselves back in the wondrous green of Cyrodiil, the vast many woodlands and great big fields. This, however, was only the rural side. The Imperial City, which was rested on the middle island, the very middle of Tamriel, as stated before, found itself to be reconstructed. This was thanks to whatever Titus Mede II could coax up unfortunately; such reconstruction leaves a lot of debt, and drains gold reserves that were already weak due to the last few wars fought.

This left a situation on how well they would be able to put funding into recruitment for their military; how they would be able to supply newly armed recruits since the state provided gear for them. For now, the gold reserves survived due to the profits collected by the East Empire Company, a trade company run by an appointed Government official. For this, all profit flow goes directly to the Gold Reserve, but Tariffs had run high in their exports to non-Imperial occupied provinces such as Morrowind, those from the Dominion, and even Hammerfell. This meant that the government funds were barely surviving and they are not enough to pay off the national debt without risking possible bankruptcy for businesses and inflation.

The Elder Council and Titus Mede II gathered at the Elder Council chambers on this sunny day to discuss the economic situation, but whatever idea was come up with was immediately shot down.

Councilor Mearanil believed that they should impose taxes on the western holds of Skyrim, and harsher taxes on the eastern holds. Both High Chancellor Garrett Malvolan and the Emperor disagreed with the proposal, as it would risk an even bigger political crisis in a place where it was trying to maintain order and stability; plus the Imperial Legions were already collecting funds from seized businesses to help repair the cities that have been damaged by the Civil War.

Councilor Vilkne Alaldson offered the idea of taxing Thalmor Justiciar affairs that take place within Imperial run provinces. Most of the Council chamber that was sided to Thalmor interest shared their disagreements, and those not on the Thalmor's interest also shared their disagreements as well. They decided that it would not happen as it is stated no-where in the White-Gold Concordat that the Imperials had any power to do so, nor could they enforce it; so they saw such an idea as a violation of the treaty, and possibly an act of war, which they were trying best to avoid for as long as possible.

The Council hearing ended with no solution to the problem; a usual occurrence when regarding legislative matters. So the Council dispersed and agreed that they would hold another hearing in a couple of days.

Moria Galenus, a female councilor to Cyrodilic representation, was a woman of over thirty years of age. She had dark hair, like most Cyrodilic people, and yet a slight tan in her skin, but nowhere close enough to be mistaken for a Redguard.

She sat in the Green Emperor way, under a tree where she usually resided when she looks to entertain herself. A book in her hand, she has dwelled in the arts of good old fashion escapism, an art that many have become lost in during such difficult times they lived in. This is a thing she did almost every day, but it was only this day that she would experience a meeting like no other.

An accented voice came from behind her, on the other side of the tree; "I see that no solution has reached the Council for their economic problems." Moria glanced up from her book to see that a man in formal wear, short black hair and stubble with an eye-patch over his left eye, was striding slowly over to her. "So yet, here you are, Councilor Moria Galenus, dwelling in a book that has little to do with the reality of the situation. May I ask why that is?"

Moria blinked and said: "A wise man once said that 'No matter how busy you may think you are, you must find time for reading, or surrender yourself to self-chosen ignorance.'"

"You must be well read then," he glanced down at the title of the book she held and then said, "in fiction." Moria closed her book and smiled while squinting at him.

"You must be Scipio right? The one who convinced the Emperor to send another legion to Skyrim some time ago during the conflict up there?" She asked.

Scipio nodded; "That I am, you must remember me from that hearing."

"Yes I do; I can't forget the eye patch that you wear, and you're remarkable talent for public speaking."

"Do you also know of my 'remarkable' talent for military strategy and tactics?"

"Yes, the couriers speak the news of your battle at the Treva River quite well," she said. Scipio offered her a hand to help her up from the ground and she accepted it.

"What some do or don't know is that I also have a 'remarkable' talent for swooning ladies," he said.

Moria laughed; "Do you now?"

"Of course, so let me start off from the beginning," Scipio said, and he stepped back from her and bowed gentleman-like. "I am Cairus Scipio, commander of the fifth Legion and holder of many 'remarkable' talents."

Moria grew a slight smile into her cheek.

* * *

It was now night in the richer residential district, where lights have been lit and refracted in the windows of houses. One in particular was the Scipio manor, where outside the gate the privately hired legion vanguard stood lazy, one of them whistling as they knew General Scipio would not be riding them this night.

On the inside in a specific hallway with a long red carpet going down it, Scipio's head servant Orc, Yasug, stood by a door with a white towel over his forearm. He faced outward, and looked out of a window as his ears twitched to a muffled sound coming from the other side of the door into the bedroom.

He heard a repetitive beating of skin and shaking of a bed post, matched perfectly by the moans and yelps of a woman in ecstasy, followed by the grunts of a man. This went on for the next couple of minutes and the beating got faster, and the moaning became more intense. This was until Yasug heard one final thrust, and a loud yell from the woman who would be having an orgasm by then.

Yasug waited for several more moments for what he was expecting, and after those moments the male called out his name. He turned, opened the door and entered the room to smell a stench of fornication, a sight of a lowly lit room with only several candles on the side tables, and a large king sized bed in red sheets being occupied by two sweaty nude forms of Scipio and Councilor Moria Galenus.

"Towel, please," Scipio said, reaching out his hand. Yasug approached and handed him the towel, and Scipio began wiping the shot out semen of his from Moria's back. They surely made a mess of themselves.

She breathed heavily, same with Scipio, and he told Yasug: "Would you get more towels, please, some dampened with warm water and some dry; for the sweat." Yasug nodded and turned to head out the door. "And can you retrieve the Sanguine Leaves, and two chalices of Ale?" He called out.

"Yes, Master Scipio," and Yasug was out the door. Scipio sighed once and collapsed on his pillow as Moria lifted herself to look at him questioningly.

"I thought Sanguine Leaves were illegal," she said.

"Only when you're seen with them," he replied. "Would you not care for some? Have you not tried some before? They're harmless, really."

"Oh, of course I have," she said. "I do not mind them at all now, thank you."

Minutes later, Yasug came back with several dry towels over his forearm once more, and three more servants of different races walking in behind him. One, a wood elf, held a silver platter that had the steaming wet towels; another, a Breton, held another silver platter and a portable expanding table in which she set up the platter on next to the bed, and the platter had two chalices with a glass bottle of Ale; the third, a dark elf, carried in a blue glass Hookah and set it up on a small bed table on the bed.

As the servants were readying everything for them, Scipio and Moria sat up on the back board and adjusted their pillows for comfort. The servants bowed and they all left the room, but stayed just outside in case Scipio would call them back.

"So," Scipio said, pouring Ale into the Chalices and handing one to her. "You must enjoy this service as well as I do…" he sipped from his. "Being treated like royalty."

"I feel more like a woman now than royalty, though, with how well you did your service," Moria said, drinking from hers. "It's been a while since a man has done that for me, with my Councilor work and all." Scipio grabbed a wet towel and offered it to her, in which she refused. Instead he laid that one over his hair and rested back.

"Well, I'm glad I could give you this," Scipio said, laying his free hand behind his head. Moria leaned up and grabbed the tube of the hookah and put it between her lips. She inhaled in, her shoulders rising to it, and released it from her mouth; then she blew out the smoke with a relaxed look of her face.

She moaned, "Yes…Sanguine Leaves…" She put the tube back between her lips and puffed some more.

Scipio laughed; "Take it easy there; we still have matters I wish to discuss." Moria released the smoke from her mouth but she dropped her expression to replace it with one of question.

"Business? Meaning?"

"Meaning matters that are important to the future of the Empire," he said.

"Oh I see," she said. "I suppose it's a fair trade: make me feel like a woman again, and I help you in return."

"Not necessarily," Scipio said. "This was a way to get to know you; possibly the best way rather than sitting down with you for dinner where we could be seen by certain eyes."

"And what business is at hand that would require such secrecy?" Scipio got up from the bed and walked to the window looking out of it. Moria shifted and rested on her side look at his nude butt, but listen to him at the same time.

"Thalmor," he said. "They breathe down our necks; it's no secret that they are upon us."

"Ah yes, Thalmor," she said, rolling her eyes. "High Elves think pretty highly of themselves especially after that war all those years ago."

"I figure that the Civil War in Skyrim had to have been incited by the Thalmor in order to keep human forces occupied and weak. Surely, that gives them a great chance at driving the nail in the coffin for us."

"Like how they were involved with the tensions between the Argonians and Dark Elves?" Moria said. "I wouldn't be surprised if what you said was true. Divines, I would believe any conspiracy theory involving the Thalmor."

"Thing is, too many of the Dominion's people live in resent of them, or fear due to their usual purges," Scipio said. "Perhaps we could use that to our advantage to get them on our level, same way they did with us."

"What are you suggesting then, General?" He turned to her.

"A Rebellion," he said.

"Are you serious? That would eat up a lot of funds…"

"It wouldn't if the Councilors themselves acted as Patrons," he drew close to the bed. "Basically, all we would need are Thalmor opposing councilors such as yourself on our side to create a budget in secret."

"But Scipio, using our own profits for funds? Councilors are greedy, and I even speak for myself. How would you convince any of the others to provide funds from their own gross income?"

"Same way I convince anyone else to join me," he said, kneeling down on the bed. "Councilor Galenus, you understand how dire this threat is to the future of mankind. We would lose a lot more than just our riches if we were to be selfish enough not to take any immediate action. For the Divines' sake, show some initiative as a Councilor to start doing some good for human kind."

Moria was silent for several moments, looking down and pondering on what he said. But what he said was very convincing, as was his said ability to persuade people into doing things. Underneath, she believed herself to be a good person, and she wanted to live up to it, even if she did agree that she was as greedy as other Councilors.

But her hatred for Thalmor expansion, especially for Mearanil and Motierre in the Council, was greater than greed ever would be. She had a huge distaste for the nastiness of those two snakes, and she agreed that in order to kill a being like a snake would be from the inside out; scramble its guts till it dies and emerge cutting through the skin in a bloody victory.

Yes.

Scipio was right; and she had to give him this in return, nevertheless the whole of the Empire, the nation that she is sworn to serve. She at least believed that she had to do something meaningful rather than sit around all day arguing at a large table with other dumb men, and have nothing happen. Instead of greed, she for once chose to do something.

Now it was up to the matter of convincing the others that same way.


	12. Chapter 10: Helgen

The group has reached Helgen, a fortress that was destroyed by a dragon and overrun by bandits. What was once a symbol of Imperial military ingenuity was now in near ruins, but the state it was in now was more like it was recovering from a cleanup operation. It looked a lot like the cities in post-war Cyrodiil when they were in the middle of reconstructing, and yet lights were still lit and people still conversed to get past he bitter reality of where they lived.

The night has fallen, and the only light that shown was of the moons and the fires that were lit indoors to the poorly recovered buildings that were once a blaze. Though it was unexpected, the buildings had the noises of hearty laughter and song, as if they were celebrating something; possibly the retrieval of the famed Grimsever.

Arminius observed this up on a rocky ridge while kneeling, in a small space between two short inclines that looked down upon the fort, giving a clear view of almost everything inside. The rocky hillside itself had a steep incline that went directly down into the fort, so it was like it acted as a south wall itself, only much taller than the other sides.

The Dragonborn had with him a spyglass that was built into a small contraption that expanded outwards, and was made of Dwarven metal; thank the Dwemer for what they leave behind, and Jenassa for carrying these things around with her. With this spyglass he was able to capture a closer look at parts of the fort, and because of that, make better judgments.

"We're ready for your command, Arminius," came the raspy voice of Hadvar. Arminius took his eye off the spyglass and turned back to get a good look at him, and the rest of the group that emerged from behind, from the road that ran vertical along the rocky ridge. Mjoll came up next to him and kneeled with him.

"What do you see?" she asked.

Arminius looked into the spyglass again and said: 'A celebration , it seems; a couple of Nords are barely visible in the dark of the pathway that goes through the fort, but it looks like they are stumbling over drunk with mead in their hands." He said, and he continued to look around until his glass spied a couple of bandits walking into one of the buildings that had light in it just below, and in the shine of that light that illuminated the darkness in front of its windows were the shadows of dancing figures moving about. "Definitely a celebration of some kind, probably over the retrieval of your sword. Good enough that these events tend to distract a lot of them from a threat that they don't expect." He shifted his view over to the east, where a gate was, and over top of that gate was an archway, lit with several torches and held a roof over it with two guards standing watch. "They have little security over the only available gate we could enter through, but we shouldn't take that lightly. Plus it's bound to be locked." He shifted his gaze to the northwest part of the fort where the training yard was and above that was the wooden door into the keep. He noticed that there was a female figure with a horned helmet and iron armor, guarded close by with two of the same getup and she was talking to several other bandits in a light manor. What he did catch his eye was the type of blade that was in her sheathe: a glass sword, something that was very uncommon, especially with Bandit equipment. "Mjoll, is Grimsever supposed to be an enchanted Glass Sword?"

"Yes, why?" she asked. As an answer, Arminius handed her the spyglass and pointed to her the direction in which he was looking.

"Look down there at the north end, in the training yard just in front of the keep door," he said. She brought the spyglass up and looked into it, the end pointed in the direction he was speaking of.

In a few short moments, Mjoll acknowledged; "Yes, that's Grimsever right there in the Bandit Captain's sheathe. Wait…they are moving into the hold; damn it, we'll have to get inside now." She said, handing back Arminius the spyglass.

"How many are there?" Hadvar said.

"I can't tell you exactly, but they outnumber us alright; but we have four advantages: the cover of darkness, their drunken state, the element of surprise, and Jenassa." The others turned to look at the dark elf with the red eyes that seemed to light up in the dark. She stepped forward just behind them.

"What is it you want me to do?" she asked. Arminius leaned over the edge and looked down the steep incline that led into the south side of the fortress, and he made his judgment.

"Do you still have that rope in your bag?"

"Yes, why?"

"I'm thinking of sending you down this here incline by rope to sneak inside, and let us in from the east gate."

"What about the guard tower, just at the southeast side near the end of the ridge? If there are guards there, they would be able to see me with a clear line of sight even in the darkness." She said. Arminius put the spyglass back up to his eye and shifted view in the direction of the tall tower in which she was talking about. What he could see, were in fact, guards stationed on top of that tower, but they were the only guards stationed on a tower; each one else were left unoccupied. What was lucky for them was, they were…'distracted.'

What Arminius could see in the torchlight of the guard tower top were two guards alone, a male orc had bent over a small Imperial woman. They both had their pants down and the Orc was thrusting himself into the smaller Imperial woman's backside, and they were facing the other direction.

"Well you're in luck," he said. "Those guards are…distracted; and the other towers are clear." He got up on his two feet and closed the spyglass. "Here's the plan: Jenassa will do what she does best; me and Hadvar will hold the rope and Jenassa will rappel down into the fortress undetected. Mjoll and Erik in the meantime will approach the east gate and standby out of sight and wait. Once Jenassa is in, Hadvar and I will join up with you two at the gate and we'll wait for Jenassa to sneak her way through, eliminate the guards overlooking the gate and open it up for us to come in, but quietly. Are we clear on what we're doing?"

They each nodded, said yes or things of the sorts. With that, they went into action; Mjoll and Erik made their way down to the east gate, while Jenassa handed Arminius and Hadvar the rope she had and they set up. Jenassa had the end of the rope, Arminius stood on the edge to lower it, and Hadvar stood behind him to unravel the rope as she goes down.

Jenassa climbed down, her feet on the wall of the incline and her hands hanging on to the rope tightly.

"Jenassa," Arminius said, and she looked up at him. "Please, be careful."

"I am deadliest in the shadows," she said. "If they were to see me, it would be nothing more than a blur. If they were to hear me, it would be nothing more than the whisper of a ghost. You mustn't worry."

"I don't at all doubt you, just…for good luck; get back to me safely, okay?" he said, and in his eyes she could see that he meant his words, that he shown great concern. She looked into them for a few more moments, getting through her mind his concern, before nodding.

"I will," and then she began her descent down the summit. On the way down, pebbles and dirt would slide her foot, but nothing to lose control. These mishaps instead would just send a rock or two tumbling down, but they were too distant for any of these drunken fools to see or hear. When she slowly reached the ground, what Arminius could see her as was as small as a gold septim held out from his face. He could see her reach into her backside and she knelt down in sneaking position, pulling out a long sharp dagger, but he was too far to make out the features of the blade.

He was too involved of watching her dot as she snuck passed the open door where she passed like a shadow in front of the illuminating light, and into the darkness that was shielded from the moonlight, she vanished into it. Hadvar had been the one to roll back up the rope, and he put it away.

"Come on," he said, tapping Arminius on the shoulder. Arminius was snapped out of his gaze and he nodded, and they both flung packs over their shoulders and jogged their way off into the night.

* * *

One of the guards that were standing on the balcony over the east gate yawned, and he turned right, his back to the other guard as he picked at a hang nail on his thumb. Suddenly, he heard a faint whistle, a tap of flesh, and a thud. Startled he was, he turned around quickly to see that the man next to him lay on the wood boarding, motionless and with an arrow stuck in his neck, bleeding out a puddle that seeped through the cracks of the floor. In the darkness, he couldn't quite make it out, so he drew closer to the dead guard. But he was again startled by yet another thud, and several quicker ones after that on the wood floor approaching him speedily.

He turned only to receive a hand grab at his cheeks, the palm covering his mouth to prevent a yell, and a sharp blade to be driven roughly through his throat, the blood spewing and larynx torn open; he couldn't scream or yell or even breathe. That blade came out and was thrusted back into the middle of his chest, straight through the leathers of his torso, cracking the sternum, and severing a major artery that goes to his heart; the blade was pulled out again, allowing more blood to pour out onto his belly and drip on the floor, where his knees had been brought to in a weak shaky state. One last time, in the hand that wielded it, the dagger was flipped down, brought back up, and violently stabbed into his scalp, crushing its way through the skull and gouged into the brain; now he had lost his vision and all connection to real life. He was dead, and his body fell sideways to the floor once the blade was pulled out of his head, and the hand that held his face let go.

* * *

Arminius watched her shadow cut through another one, and then it disappeared; probable that she jumped down to ground level to open the gate. It was then that the gate was seen to budge, and the left door cracked open slightly swinging on the inside. Now was their chance to act.

Arminius emerged from behind the bush on the side of the room and raised his hand, signaling for the others to emerge as well, and they did, following his lead as they made a light jog while hanging their heads low. Jenassa stepped back inside and out of the way for them, readying her bow and her eyes covering the area around the gate as each moved in beside her one at a time. Arminius kneeled down beside a wrecked wooden house and he lifted his head to look through the ruptures.

At the far end of the place they were in was the other gate, and on top had another set of guards moving in the light of the fires overhead in the balcony. Arminius used a hand signal to alert Jenassa of the threat up ahead, and so she moved on into the shadow.

Patiently, they each waited in the cover of the darkness, and they watched as the two guards were brought down with ease, and the lights on the balcony were blown out. Now, Arminius signaled the rest of his members to follow him as he emerged from behind his cover and jogged his way across the stone path, in the northwest direction where it would lead them to the training yard.

He took cover at the edge of a stone wall, where around it was the opening into the yard; the others had propped themselves up against the wall behind him, forming a single file line. He peeked around and noted the area: a large opening with the one path leading straight through it. The door to the keep was just close by, at an angle from where they were now; all they would have to do is take out or slip past the patrol that was headed their way with a lantern in his hands. Arminius went back behind the wall and held his hands up to tell his comrades to hold as he slipped the hunting knife out of his lower back sheathe and readied it in his hands, blade down.

* * *

The guard walked past the opening, whistling a tune from a bard song that they were singing inside one of the buildings as part of the festivity. That was until a hand covered his mouth; his eyes went wide in panic and a long blade was brought down into his stomach. The muscles in his hand forced his fingers wide open, dropping the lantern to the floor in a shatter as the blade was pulled across his belly, sounding a gruesome noise of blood and guts spewing out. He tried to scream but his alarm was muffled by the hand that silenced him. The Blade was brought out of his wide open stomach and drove into the nape of his neck, blood squirting as it sliced clean through the major artery and cracking his spinal apart, dying instantly.

* * *

The guard Arminius killed fell lifeless out of his grasp and thudding onto the ground. The Dragonborn sheathed his blade and signaled for his followers to make their way with him to the keep door. As he turned and began a low jog, he saw that Jenassa emerged from the darkness on his right, and she joined them in their move.

They all reached the door and readied themselves to enter, and after they each nodded to Arminius whose hand was pressed against it, they entered quickly.

The room was circular, it's what would've made sense for the cylindrical tower they entered, with a table and two chairs positioned at the opposite end from which they entered, just under an old Imperial banner that the Bandits probably forgot to take down.

Just in front of them was a certain bandit that was turned facing away from them in the middle of the room, and at the table were two more, male and female, talking. The sudden bursting in of the door had alerted them, but not in time for Arminius to tackle the one in the middle. The bandit woman jumped out of her seat, drawing a sword, but Jenassa had shot an arrow that pierced her throat and brought her back to the wall where the bloody tip was caught in between two stones, pinning her to the wall as she choked and grabbed at it, coughing out blood in her attempt to save herself.

Arminius produced his hunting knife and brought it down once onto the man's face whom he tackled to the ground. The other bandit, struck by both the site of the one he talked to pinned against the wall and the other with a blade in his face, hesitated in taking out his greatsword, allowing for Erik to drive his greatsword through his chest. The bandit yelled in pain, and Erik raised a fist and punched him square in the nose, silencing him; then he kicked his body out from his sword. The last one alive was the bandit woman who was stuck to the wall by the arrow; she died with one last breath, reaching out her hand desperately to grab at nothing, but her lifeless body had brought it down to her side as the other remained stuck around the arrow.

Arminius got to his feet and signaled once more to hide on each side of the door on the right, this was when he heard footsteps and someone saying 'what was that?!'

They each stacked around, and the footsteps drew louder and closer; there were multiple, possibly three or four…no, four exactly. He readied his hunting knife, and then he heard 'oh shit.' Then one entered, weapon drawn, another with the same manor, and then the other, none of them seemed to see them as they were too busy looking at the bloody mess that was made. Then he sensed the last one, and with good timing, he pulled his blade around the corner and it struck through ones belly with a yelp. He jumped out to full view, pulling his blade out and stabbing it underneath the bandit's chin, and into his mouth.

The other bandits were startled, but the Dragonborn's companions easily jumped and fought them, cutting them down one at a time till Mjoll was able to reach the bandit captain wielding her sword. The clashed of the greatsword and the enchanted glass sword had created a show of ice being thrown out to each block made against each other, a crunchy frost sound covered by each ding of blades. The captain must not have been as good of a fighter as Mjoll was, and she sliced off the arm that wielded Grimsever, and then it was her head that rolled.

They breathed in relief, now with Grimsever back in the hands of Mjoll the Lioness, but not nearly in relief that they now had to escape, which they did, back through the east gate still under the cover of darkness, and the drunken bandits at their festivities had no idea on the events that unfolded in Helgen that night.

The group had found their horses, and off they went, closer to Riverwood they were now, they would find themselves there in merely a day or two.


End file.
